To Hair Loss

I could hear them cry out loud
But never could have cared less
How the mighty and the proud
Nurse in them such foolishness
But now I bask in better light
Whisper in some silent prayer
When fanning fires of fearful fright

The pillow wears my crop of hair.

I see them squandered on the floor
And everyone of them doth sting
At my core of heart and more
- The blackest fibers of my being.
A shining pate of errant yield
No oil, no herb can come to aid
The mysteries of the scalp that sealed
This early autumn of my head.

photo: gettyimages.com