This poem I wrote in 2012. As I looked into bathroom mirror after arising from bed one morning the train-wreck that stared back at me prompted this poem.
I’ll have to cut me hair today, me hair it’s gone all wrong.
It’s old and grey and very coarse like a sailor and his song.
A patch of barren ground on top with worn-out carpet all around.
The icy wind glides over me head and Oh! makes me wanna frown.
But in the mirror tis shearing day and I’ll psych me self up too.
To trim the beard and old mustache and see the armpits through.
I may as well do me back and chest while I’m still in the mood.
And do a re-con down me legs in case I’ve missed a few.
Time has got the upper hand, the golden mane has gone.
Age has taken over now, I’ve often wondered what went wrong.
Now it’s time to cut me hair, I raise the shears to strike.
There’s no use really, me eyes have gone and there’s never enough damn light.