Dire is the date when crowning thatch
Displays its first denuded patch
As follicles go on the blink
And locks no longer flow, but shrink.
Bad news! The competition stiff,
You’re up the creek without that quiff
That wowed the girls ("It’s so James Dean!")
In salad days, whose memory’s green.
Ah, happy hirsute Youth, no cap,
To cover up a growing gap
Or, like celebrities of late,
A painfully re-seeded pate!
Who worries if it all turns white?
New tints and dyes soon put things right –
But wigs, despite commercial spin,
Can’t quite disguise a head of skin.
Plus, as the years reveal more scalp,
A shiny pale pink mini-Alp,
(Still worse, a sort of wrinkled corm)
You find what grew there kept you warm.
That's why Anonymous once wrote
Wise words it causes pangs to quote:
Ideal for town and country wear
There is no substitute for hair.