Katanga’s Roots

My roots are where my hair should start
but sadly it does not!
Bald as a coot I confess am I.
Like Phil, I’d rather not

dwell long on this deficiency –
it’s a bit like rolling snot –
when I am in mixed company,
well, I’d just rather not . . .

My roots were laid in times long past
a half-century ago –
my trunk is gnarled, my leaves are gone
but why should you want to know

how hard it’s been for me outside,
battered by the raging wind
of  Fortune, Love and other sins
that haunt me? Woe betide

those who think they can prevail
o’er Fate’s decision on their hair!
They’re bound for life-long failure –
for nothing can repair

damaged roots – no conditioner
will ever again suffice
to bring us back Life’s auburn prime,
but poetry is rather nice . . .

In fact it’s most sublime!