Hair today, gone tomorrow.
Parting what’s left is such sweet sorrow.
I used to be fuzzy and fetchingly furry.
Locks just as lustrous as Cher or Ann Curry.
But now when the mirror presents my reflection,
I see Mr. Clean and can’t make the connection.
Hey wait! What’s this tuft that so thick appears?
Oh. It’s only the hair growing out of my ears.
© Chuck Ingwersen, 2008
