Once upon a haircut dreary, in the stool quite far from cheery,
Over many a great experience of prolonged forgotten cuts.
In the chair, while juice I’m sipping, suddenly there came a snipping,
As of scissors gently clipping, clipping on someone else’s hair.
“Tis some hairdresser,” I muttered, “cutting someone else’s hair,”
Otherwise, I wouldn’t care.

And each separate dying hair, molding its way onto the ground.
Eagerly I wished the morrow, so I could skip this tale of sorrow,
From my memories surcease of sorrow, sorrow for my long gone hair
For the fair and fabulous hair that was very hard to ignore,
Nameless here forever more.

And the silken sad blue poncho rustling to my new hairdo,
Thrilled me- filled me with such anger never ever felt before.
So that now my anger spiking; the haircut was not to my liking.
“The haircutters may have won this time, but not anymore,
Some haircutters have won this time, but not anymore.
This it is and nothing more.