The longer the verse…
Watch out!
Your tonsure
has caught a cold.
Your thoughts
are coughing
on parole.
They want to
get out,
please let them not.
No longer children,
no longer boys,
their spits are bore.
Go bald as brave men do:
put on a woolen hat
so as to avoid flu.
Now clear your nose,
you’re old enough,
-yet older-, you know.
A fussy baldy
you’ll soon become,
teenage years are long gone…
Like your tonsure’s ole hairs,
to your head
they no longer belong.
