Hairloss is the ultimate test
That a man will ever face:
One day he looks his very best,
Next, the most vile of his race;
His hours become filled with unrest,
And sorrow takes passion's place,
And every Norwood one hairline our sad eyes see
Reminds us what we were, and never more may be.
There was a time, not long ago,
When hair was never a worry,
But the seed fate chose to sew
Reaped misery in a hurry;
And although the process is slow
There's a gloom I cannot bury;
My hopes, likes trees after a storm, lay uprooted,
And the million joys that lived in me are muted.
Of all the pangs life can produce;
Of all the griefs of heart and mind;
Of all the pains love will induce;
Of all sadness the soul may find;
Of all worries, whose only use
Is to leave the spirit confined:
None can parralel baldness's brutal bleakness,
The cruelest of all ailments - man's weakest weakness.
