Beards, Wizards, and Wisdom

Yes, I’ve had one, a beard that is, but I never took the time to grow one the way one should be grown, the way I describe here. Maybe, I grow one now, the first beard of a new yeaar.


Whiskers need
to breathe, to taste the air.
The sun must be allowed
to warm the skin
where each stalk,
gray or black,
finds its root,
and, almost as often,
each stem needs
to be cooled by a breeze
born above a pond
edged with tall reeds where,
on Saturday mornings,
children hide from their chores,
searching for the lost doubloons
of a pirate horde.

Like Samson’s locks,
a respectable beard
must never be trimmed.
Each whisker will grow,
soften, weave together
into a history that speaks
of the evolution of butterflies,
the arrogance of dragons,
and the foolish schemes of poets.


One thought on “Beards, Wizards, and Wisdom

  1. Pingback: Daily Post…First | Life as a country bumpkin...not a city girl

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