The Beard: Callander Bookshop Poem by Sheena Blackhall

`I must set fire to my beard today'
The beekeeper's husband said
And the blue tits told the chaffinches
And the chaffinches upped and fled

By the pool the tattling frog-lings
Fearing a conflagration
Dived in their emerald leggings
In goose bump consternation

The beekeeper's husband's tawny beard
Is thick as Jericho's walls
A herd of bison could shelter there
It's as long's Niagara Falls

This remarkable outcrop of Highland Hair
As springy's a trampoline
Would burn so bright, 'twould be seen at night
From Rome to Pittenweem

But the wise old bees were unconcerned
For there's often smoke without fire
`Such a wonderful beard' their queen declared
Could be lent out for hire,
To a Russian Tsar or an oil Emir
To impress the noxious throng
Or laid as a living carpet, for a saint to walk along.'

From Callander to Angola, the fame of the beard has spread
It's said that a Dutch explorer was found in its depths half dead
Bald chinned bandits from Chile, pirates from Cannes to Calais
Fierce Afghans wearing turbans have bid for it on e-bay

A radar seeking survey, the following contents found
The Marie Celeste. A baker's dozen
The Duke of Wellington's second cousin
A tribe of hitherto unknown Celts
A Chinese dragon. Lochgelly belts
And much much more to amaze and astound
And a branch of the London underground

But a conservation order
Means the beard must remain unlit
By Royal proclamation
May the sun not set on it!