My Father's Beard Poem by David N. Munene

Love the way he held his beard
Stroking it as it on his palm veered
Like Abraham's moustache

Stroking it as it on his palm veered
Those going to his mouth cleared
But when the breezes blew they again neared

When he held me beneath his beard
I was in love with how its sharpness pierced
My forehead after he had it plucked

My Sister and I ran
To be the first to round
Our small arms, all him round

To be the first to round
Our foreheads to his beard surround
So he would on them his beard ground

We shoved and pushed,
We pushed and shoved
He would then both of us hold

His beard was enough
To tickle and make us laugh
Like do young drank fools about bluff

My father's beard though now white
If only he'd rub it just above my headlight!
But he says I have my own and I can do it right...