Flecks of wisdom in my beard
Short gray hairs twisting weird
Reminding me of days long past
When life for me went by too fast
There was a time I took some dye
And colored grays—a nasty lie
Today I wear them proud and strong
And smile each day one comes along
My beards the master, I the slave
I hope to take him to my grave
He tells me in the mirror sweetly
How to live my life completely
Not a slave to shaving, I
Cut my beard I'd sooner die
This growth's the mark of my free will
It trumpets spirit man can't kill
I trim it careful now and then
I like to stroke it sometimes when
I'm lost in thoughts of other days
This beard grew wild, bereft of grays
And now I look upon my face
I know God's Art I'll not erase
The vision's one not to be feared
Flecks of wisdom in my beard
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem