Tuesday, June 28, 2022

Pate.




Alas, poor Yorick, fellow of jest
For joshing, no doubt was the best
Now for sure his skull is shiny
As mine old scalp, or baby heinie

I drive the car and mirror glance
To see one tailgate there perchance
And lo! My hairless head is seen
Within the glass of my machine

The mirror taunts my fuzzless pate
As hairless as a china plate
My father, his hairline did bequeath 
His will did list no hair beneath

My follicles failed, all tired, old
Before their time and left me cold
Now hats, beneath which I must hide
For warmth that nature won't provide

A collection of caps that grew in size
As hairline crept north from my eyes
The sand trap in the rear grew vast
Sahara size, I found, at last

So, cover up that scalp with cloth
To hide the skin that nature's sloth
Has left me high and dry and bare
With just a stray hair here and there

Alas! Poor hair! I knew you when
But now is now, and that was then
At least by one fear am not haunted
Could not grow man bun if I wanted. 

4 comments:

  1. Hair today, gone tomorrow.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Hey Fred, your head's not dead
    Just your hair! So be aware
    Your shiny pate, I'm sure looks great.
    So just like Kojak, take a look back
    At your lady, Say "Who loves ya baby?"
    And she'll say "Thee, my dear Fred Key!"

    ReplyDelete