My Hair is a Coward

My hair is a coward,
It’s running away.
Yellow in spirit,
Though physically grey.

My fringe is a memory
A thing of the past.
How foolish was I
To believe it would last?

The day I turned forty,
It turned tail and fled
Away from my eyebrows
Up over my head.

My hair has absconded
To where all hair goes –
Down through my scalp and
Back out through my nose.