A Boy In Philosophy Poem by George Price

A head of scruffy hairs
Strays looping and grouping uneasily
Over glasses loops, and, unawares,
Catching his words in snares.

That's all I ever saw.
And all I ever heard
Were his lips thaw
His voices roar.

He'd philosophise
Talk frankly, without doubt
His booming voice monopolise
The airwaves he would vapourise.

Dreamy dulcet tones
Would float behind his hair
And chill me to the bones.
Oh, I fell for his voice, not his combs.