On the Event On the event of my lady a-balding, Her pate's future is Spalding. Life isn't fair; she'll lose ALL her hair. I loved her then. I love her now. I will lover her when. It was red, well, reddish brown. She wore it short, she wore it long, 'twas curly, a tad frizzy, To her shoulders and as a page. She added a bun. Oh what fun! I loved her then. Most often I calmly wait, While lashes accentuate And hair is coiffed and fussed and moussed. It's curly and gray with a hint, Just a hint, Of her mother's red. I love her now. Hair's an important feature. It keeps in the heat, Blocks out the sun, And adorns most every creature. Sable and mink and Fox and fake; A coat keeps her up with the Joneses New born may lose it. At death's door we've lost it. Some shave it away, Away all over, Half dome reflectin the sun. A red wig posed Sue. Two wigs, added Pat: One to wear and one to wash. The other day we tried on hats: Small ones and tall ones And floppies with feathers. We laughed at ourselves In the mirrors of our lives. Beatle George, no idol, But a track of time. Once cherub face crazed by Taliban hair Returns to civility. Body attacked by the enemy: He fought in solitude With the help of his friends. No mere bug, no cold, For brief moments of time: She too finghts this same enemy. Who tells how many sides The dice will have And where it lands? This evel lurks deep in darkened caves, Striking terror within its own time. We stand together, United, And willingly call For the help of new friends. I will lover her when. God willing, forever, Fritz
Fritz von Coelln © April, 2002