My Hair’s Fallen Foul of the Weather.

(For Simon N Ricketts in the snow)

My hair’s fallen foul of the weather.
It’s tattered and sad and morose
What was recently godlike and shining
Now hangs limply over my nose.


My hair’s fallen foul of the weather.
My cow’s lick is gone I’m afraid
Now it’s just cowed and it’s licked
I should have applied more pomade


My hair’s fallen foul of the weather
My barber was shocked and appalled
He’s forced me to call back tomorrow
But it’s still better than being bald.


© Ken Armstrong 2012