Had a bad case of writers block recently! So I punched it in the face and came up with this little piece of poetic nonsense.
My friend he has, just 1 tiny hair,
That sprouts up out his chest,
Only one, that is all,
He has no idea where are the rest!
He gave his lack of topiary,
A name of which was suited,
curly he said with so much pride,
He was proud of where it was rooted.
This little sprout of manliness,
He protected with love and care,
He combed it and styled it right,
And conditioned this single hair.
One day he felt an itchy pinch,
Which he scratched and heard a scream,
And when he looked with much surprise,
He thought this must only be a dream.
For there upon his tiny hair,
Sat a hermit crab named don,
A perfect hair for him he said,
For there is only the one.
Crabs, you see are used to living,
Well hidden under a rock,
But my friend, he offered this lonely crustacean,
A home upon his lock.