This Beard. Poem by Michael Gale

This beard...
Feels very weird.

It itches....
It never b_tches.

It don't wear a dress or even britches..
It don't get hurt, or has any stitches.

This beard is very weird...
By man-is never heard.

This beard-is not insane...
This beard-is very plain.

This beard i've grown all along...
This hairy thing, cannot hum or sing a song.

Why do i detest, this beard of mine? ...
Why must i cut, this fluffy-thine?

This thing is not a witch...
This thing, i must cut or ditch.

This beard is what i hide behind...
It looks way better than my bare behind.

This beard is bristly-at best...
This beard, is just my test.

Why can't i get rid of this? ...
This beard is just my bliss.

This beard, i would miss...
If be gone, i'd be amiss.

This beard is a part of me...
This beard requires no water-
-it be all free.

This beard, that frames my face...
Makes my appearance, look out of place.

This beard, that is a part of thee...
May one day, depart from me.