The little girl with funny curls

I am no heroine in writing poems, but this morning something popped up, typed it down, felt like sharing.

The little girl with funny curls:
One curl and another curl
circling round and round
At night, still warm and damp
the curls try to survive
In early morning vaguely there
the curls are there long and spiraling
it is too heavy way too heavy
Why not rather be a wave?
But the decision to get things straight
was decided by the comb
The waves removed, the last curls are gone
Long, dark and straight it falls
But just like the girl who carries it
it still will lead its own life
introducing once in a while a curl or wave
reviving when it is time to get neat and clean
reminding the woman of the once
little curl with funny curls; no weight and jumpy.
Just like her father's curls.
Somewhere she will always be
that little girl with funny curls.
Perfectly hidden behind the straight mane grin-emotic