The Beard

The Beard

Pure white skin that I see
Smoothed by a blade
Razored nicely, no nicks
No twelve o’clock shade

10 years younger, I look
With a view of my dimple
No ingrown hairs on my neck
No signs of a pimple

Yet tears roll down my cheek
And puddle with a clink
Near the bristle of my beard
That lay bushed in the sink

I’ve given up the dream
Of six shooters on my side
10 gallon hat on my head
And a stallion that I ride

Or the thought of being on TV
Drinking beer from a can
Promoting a commercial
Being The World’s Most Interesting Man

Maybe I’ll try again later
And let the hair grow
Massage it with butter
And let the hair flow

Or I just let it all die
Float away just like ash
Go a totally different route
Like a pencil thin mustache