Owed to a Grecian Formula,
Though secretive and unbetrayed,
Scarce noticed, by gradations wane:
Auld sylvan strands, fine argent grey.
Rich chestnut hues, slow, unannounced,
Emerge discreet midst ashen roots,
As grizzled mantle transforms brown,
Like autumn leaves or wooded shoots.
And though ’tis pittance sacrificed
To dab small bits at break of day,
Alas, amended means, I yearn:
An aerosol, fine misting spray.
’Tis sweet...
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