Oh, rue the day when crowning thatch
No longer seems quite up to scratch
And follicles go on the blink
So flowing locks begin to shrink!
As passing years reveal your scalp –
A shiny pale pink mini-Alp,
Worse still,, a sort of wrinkled corm –
You find they kept you dry and warm.
Ah, Youth, with no need for a cap
To hide an ever-growing gap
Or painfully re-seeded pate
Like Signor B’s of recent date!
Alas, an unknown wit once wrote
Wise words that always get my vote:
Ideal for town and country wear,
There is no substitute for hair.
Last edited by Jerome Betts; 11-18-2012 at 06:12 AM.
Reason: Re-jigged
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