In youth's first bloom, the downy fluff brings praise,
When sprouting from chins dewed with sweat's proud glaze...
But when the evening's hairs grow white, and stiff, and long,
Their thirsty roots drink tears of waning days.
No Barber Poet, I, nor Learned Man
To dwell on skill forgot or future plan.
I shaved, Behold! it brought me joy enow
to buy the company - to take command!
[ 06-02-2002: Message edited by: grant ] |