It just was staring at me, that single white hair
Standing up so boldly just to see if I would care.
“Your old!” it seemed to shout at me, “your old as a rock”.
“I am not!” I shouted back with a voice full of shock.
But it just kept repeating, “Your old”, “Your old”
And wondering if I had the nerve to do something bold.
So I took out my scissors and snipped at the root,
Removing that accusing hair, giving it the boot.

Then just a day later, when I looked in the mirror,
I found myself with an even greater horror:
Three white hairs now, instead of just one
But now I just knew what had to be done.
The scissors again, and a quick snip, snip and snip,
None of those hairs would give me their lip!

It just kept getting worse, more white every day,
I had no more choice but to snip them away.
So I snipped, and I snipped, so they can't call me old
But now I look so much older, being totally bald!

For a reading of this poem by the author, click below.

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