It swirls around and wraps my head
It should go this way – but goes that way instead
The colour, it seems, is all black and white
The shade of my youth has given up her fight
So simple to keep and so simple to wear
That grow it much longer – I’d rather not dare
Neither a brush nor a comb has it seen in a while
It’s that moppy and messy and unkept hair style
That seems to appease me at this stage of the game
Do I dye it or cut it or keep it the same?
So foreign and new this new aged look
Tis this hair of my father for which I mistook
The shiny bald head of yesterday is gone
A full head of hair will perhaps arrive anon!
No scarf, no wig, no hat – no not for me
For this head of hair of today simply begs to be free!