the Comb is my shepherd,
i will not stand -
it makes me lie down
on smooth scalp skin,
it restores my place;
he unbends my kinks without pulling
for his pride's sake -
even as i lay on the bald spot
of sunburn and moon-shine,
i fear no clipper,
for he prefers me -
his lotions and gels,
they comfort me
he prepares a mirror before me
in the presence of that grey patch;
he anoints my strand with hair dye;
my pigment overflows -
surely women will flock to touch me
all the days of his life,
and i will grow in the glow
of his bald spot forever -
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