The Secret Society

Though rare,

We are there to be found
If you know where to look.
We blaze a spectrum
From palest sun-tinged straw,
Through cool amber, warm orange,
Fiery red, burnished brown
To glowing chestnut.
Subject to the same insults
And saddled with the same clichés,
We are in fact unique and proud.
Part of a secret society,
We look twice when we encounter one another;
Give shy smiles of recognition,
Glances of understanding and
Nods of solidarity.
As a child,
I shrank from the sun
And from the attention.
Now I embrace both;
Cling to my identity and hope
That age will not render my membership void.