An ode to the beard

Into the mist the mob peered.

As the strange shape it neared.

Some of them duly feared,

The hirsute image that appeared.

Then suddenly one cheered,

‘It’s the thing with the beard.’

Some of them jeered,

While the others they sneered,

To see something so weird.

And the boldest he leered,

‘That thing should be sheared’.

Now the creature’s eyes, they were bleared.

To be so hated and smeared,

Violated and queered.

Suddenly towards them it veered,

And the path quickly cleared.

And its courage it geared.

To say: ‘Do you not think me speared?

‘That you’re all so afeared,

‘Of what I’ve cultivated and reared,

‘And magnificently tiered?’

And away from the mob it steered.

But it stopped when it heared,

That they now applauded and cheered.

So towards them again it sheered.

And though their words, they had seared.

Their hearts were now cleared,

Towards the man with the beard.

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