Gone Bald Poem by Clive Culverhouse

to the bathroom he came with a comb
and cried with a roar in horror
regretting the stair, did he climb
at what he just saw in the mirror
but stare and stare with a start
not a fan of a fan anymore
days now gone of his strut
like a lawn having died of a mow
kind weather needed, no feather
eyes on their stalks no longer
like a heath without fern or heather
now a parade and fanning hunger
so upsetting can be the clock
just ask this newly bald peacock