Some Choose To Dye Quickly Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

It gets a little bit harder,
To expand upon one's tolerance...
As the hair begins to gray.

Growing older,
Sometimes isn't done with patience.
And the thrill of each day,
Comes when staying as far away...
From the sounds of nonsense.
Arriving at this stage of one's life,
Needs no definition...
Of what peace is like.

It gets a little bit harder,
To expand upon one's tolerance...
As the hair begins to gray.

Some choose to dye quickly,
Every sign of getting older.
With a permanence wished to sustain.
Hair, eyebrows, moustaches and beards.
Expecting Mother Nature from them to disappear.
As if no one recognizes...
Every movement done they do is slower.
And a once proud vision...
Is not as clear.

'Hey Pops!
Hold up your head.
Don't dropp that toupee.'

~Is that suppose to be funny?
Well,
It isn't.
You, you, you...
Whatever! ~