The wind tugs at the whiskers,
That reside on my chin.
Longer now in November,
Than They've ever been.
Pulling with might,
At the silver and grey,
Leaving my face,
In total disarray.
I know I look a sight,
When I'm out in the wind.
I could cut them off,
But where to begin.
But t'would be my character,
That would take a big hit.
So devoid of laughter,
That I might pitch a fit.
In essense these whiskers,
Say a lot about me.
Maybe I'll knit some knickers,
If I just let them be.
11/20/2012 Alton Texas
Yes, leave them where they are Juan. They look just fine, and will also keep your chin warm! !
Gray hair (where ever it may reside) is a crown of righteousness, a touch of glory for a long life. Wisdom. Like this poem pardner, good one.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
great poem Juan with a lot of philosophy and a touch of humor- good job- I really enjoyed this one!