Dr. Follicle he is not.

~The Poet’s Poet~

He remembers the time he had plenty

In his thirties, now he’s double twenty

A charmer they called him

When he asked them to dance

He has a shiny plate now

Which leaves him little chance.

But it’s said that God loves a trier

He has given no thought to, retire.

Oh, how he wished he’d looked after his hair

Treated it with love and care

Now, he can grow hair on his chest and his chin

Up his nostrils and in each ear

Alas on his head it won’t grow

This battle he just cannot win

So he’ll have to make do, remember the good times

He had flair and a head of blonde hair.

© Chris Black. January 2019

#Poetry #amwriting

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