Cut It Off

Every year he watched it grow,

Into something magnificent as can be,

It was large, luscious, and fruitful, 

As a lion’s mane,

As a mighty tree.

 

Yet an overgrown sheep.

One may call,

Rather wild and untamed, 

Fruitful? I beg to differ, 

An outlaw’s sport, 

A lone man’s claim.

 

Refusing a cut must be the worst of the worst, 

Uncivilized, barbaric, 

The complaints of his mother are his first.

She asks yet he refuses,

He comes as a Samson indeed.

Combing and washing, 

Carrying on such acts of misdeed. 

 

Nobody knows what lives within it,

Nor does anyone dare to ask, 

But as word spreads,

Seriousness rises,

For he is now given a dangerous task.

 

To protect its reign,

He must take all punishment by word,

Yet to face disgust,

Anger, 

How could such voices be heard?

 

The other option is to release it at once, 

Ending its reign for good.

Perhaps it is worst than expected,

A negative attraction, 

An outlaw in the neighborhood. 

 

But he refuses once more,

For it is his lover, 

His pride. 

When all is lost,

It is still with him,

Enjoying a sweet and soft ride. 

 

Or so he thought, 

Perhaps age may take its place, 

Hunkering down and resting its army,

Preparing for an unwanted race. 

 

At such point it would only be acceptance,

Of the coming of adulthood

and the end of youth.

As he must prepare himself,

For the horrid,

And devastating truth.

 

So at last he says to the man to cut it short,

For the reign has come to an end.