Poetry

Mustache

Through the Times when
None stood by Me,
She Did.
When I was Broken
And no one Glued by Me,
She Did.

Scars were Scorching,
Such was the Fall.
Nothing was left to Play with,
Nothing at All.
One after the Other,
Oh, they all Left.
Some through the Comb,
Some through the Shaft.

The Roots turned Old,
Leaving me Bald.
She was the One,
Who hung on with Me.
Standing Tall there
Through the Autumn Spree.

I don’t need You Quitters.
You Fall in a Flash.
But, I don’t Give a Damn
As I have my Mustache.


Photo Credit: johnthan

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