I allow my face to become a jungle,
No longer barren or devoid of fuzzy foliage.
The manmade steel that shredded
and sliced the whisker trees
lays abandoned,
and sliced the whisker trees
lays abandoned,
somewhere in a porcelain graveyard;
rusting and eroding into ash,
slowly becoming one with nature again.
Isn't that beautiful? Doesn't it just bring a tear to your eye? Having been bearded most of my life, I have often been asked how I grow such an awesome beard. Well, it all starts with one easy to follow step. Any guesses what that might be? I will give you a hint: See picture.
Poem source: Brycical
Photo Source: Unknown (via Facebook)
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