My ‘Bedside Book of Famous Men’
 Neglects to mention Jo and Len,
 Who, I feel, deserve their places
 For working wonders on the faces
 Of hirsute women everywhere,
 Bleaching their unwanted hair.

 My tale begins when Jo was three
 And perched upon his Nanny’s knee
 Unaware that from above
 Would shortly fall a sign of love.
 For Nanny kissed him on the head
 Prior to putting him to bed,
 And all night long he couldn’t sleep –
 His little scalp was all a-creep
 As if a moth were dancing there
 A light fandango in his hair.   
 Ah, Gentle Reader, you must know
 ’Twas Nanny’s ’tache that tickled so!

 We now move on to speak of Len
 Who, when Jo was three, was nearly ten.
 One day, when he was late for school,
 A mistress beat him with a rule
 Whose upper lip so curled with hair
 That he decided then and there
 To make his fortune with a cream
 Which to women then was but a dream.

 And next we find them in a bar
 In Tooley Street – it’s not that far –
 Talking business hard and fast.
 Could they rid the world at last
 Of hairy women one and all,
 The thin, the fat, the short, the tall?

 My tale must end, you know the rest –
 I must admit, it’s not the best –
 But think, when next you use 'Jolen'
 Of Jo at three and Len at ten!