The hair on my head is fast disappearing,
Yet upon my poor face, it´s all
reappearing,
Brows, life of their own sprouting a hedge,
Fuzz upon cheeks, resembling tough sedge.
Weeds from my nose have a habit to stray,
Tough blighters on chin, determined to stay,
Why does hair reside in all the wrong places?
And instead of our heads, sprouts on our faces.
So it is time now, to bring out the strimmers,
Shears, mower of lawns & necessary trimmers,
Snipping & clipping, now that spring´s in
the air,
Time to get rid of, all that damned orphaned
hair.
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