A Shaggy Tale

A Shaggy Tale By Jan Beaumont © My hairdresser - like me - is still on lockdown My image in the mirror's made it crack I'm thinking I should go into the bedroom Turn the lock and stay there till she's back. I look like some untidy scruffy hobo My unkempt mane has turned from blonde to white Its grown like garden weeds In summer rainfall I'm honestly A most peculiar sight. I used to be a natural shade of auburn Not ginger, but a rather fetching red But now the white has started reappearing And what I've got's a 'piebald' look instead. I guess I'll have to self apply some colour It seems the only thing that I can do I'll tuck the messy strands behind my earlobes And say a silent prayer For Level Two. On Level Four we can't Go out to movies No takeaways or cream cakes From the caf No shopping, and no visits To our girlfriends, This lockdown lark is well And truly naff. So Level Three should see us slightly better We're hoping that the weeks will somehow fly But Level Two's the one I'm hanging out for Its enough to make me drink the cabinet dry. My image now has gone from bad to shocking I think I'll have to put it To the vote I'm off to get the biggest sharpest razor But ... do I cut my hair Or cut my throat? This virus seems to be A little weaker I hope so - I can feel It in my gut. Let's hope we're down from Three to Two real quickly 'Cos I'm desperate for a dye job and a cut!