A boy looked
into his mirror
No signs of facial
hair
To our bucks
great horror
So he
borrowed his father’s razor
Lathered his
face up
Swung here
and there and everywhere
Now that
should change his luck
How could
others have goatees
Soul patches
and handlebars
And all he
had to show
Was a face,
now filled with scars
If there
ever was a tooth fairy
There must
be a beard troll
An expert in
pogonotrophy
who plants
hair whole
So deals
were made
And sacrifices
thought through
Today our
boy sports a dashing French beard
With pride
he flaunts it too
Only, our
boy
Our embodiment
of joy
For never
once would guess
That the Lord
in his infinite wisdom
Would replace
his predicament with glabrousness
Therefore,
be careful what you wish for
Reiterating the
moral
To have hair
and lost, is worse
Than to
never had hair at all.
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