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The First Grey Hair ©

John McCallum
Falkirk, Scotland

You've surely hid there long enough,
Among the finer fluffy stuff,
Content tae lead a life o' silence,
That sheltered me,
And though a know it's no' you're fault,
A hate yer timin'.

Yon forehead crop exposed ye tae,
Fae gapin' furrus they aimless splay,
Wispy fine they curl and fray,
Fae sickly seed,
A groomin' nightmare day on day,
Tae hide the heed.

Prospectin' fame has sucked us dry,
Ma fiery brain maintained on high,
Convectin' thochts his taen it's toll,
On twig an' tree,
An' now reflectin' times o' stress;
Admire thee.

It's hardy tin that thrives on pain,
When fickle types are easy taen,
Compoundin' sense o' livin' shame,
Yer singled oot,
For hingin' in while others dream,
Thir ain uproot,

It's no a crime ma mind explains,
The wee bit grey life's crop retains,
That teaches a' to hard reflect,
The daily dwindle,
Fae them that mirror scattered light,
Through damaged thatch.

A wipe depressions fae ma heed,
An' bear you proud a will concede,
Fir you in shiny battle gear,
His stoud yer grund,
An' mair o' you a'd gladly hae,
O'er deserters.

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