Facial Adornment Poem by Irene C S ClarkHogg

My Uncle once told me, ‘You will never know love,
Until by a man with a moustache you are kissed’
And I waited and waited, but it never happened,
So I never knew what it was I had missed.

Quite recently my husband decided to grow one,
‘I am ex-RAF, ’ was his excuse on that day.
At first, ouch! It prickled, and then oh! It tickled;
But then, fully grown, it blew my mind away.

Though the moustache is pleasant, it isn’t so special.
I suppose it’s ok, just some hair he can twirl;
But the kisses are magic, and the truth of the matter,
Is just that my Ivor still makes my toes curl.