Beard

I once sported a manly beard, a beastly beard had I. But then on the farm, at the crack of dawn, while my lady cheered, she chopped it off, and while the cows mockingly mooed, I quietly cried. And with that, a little something inside of me died. I would venture to guess it was my manly pride. She brushed and whispered into my tickled ear "Brian, how I pined for your lovely face, and your youthful countenance. You don't need a mane to rival a lion in ferocity -you're sensitive and wise, I can see it in your eyes, and your words they always seem to make sense." Who was I to debate with her? Her words would lose weight if I failed to concur.