When I was young, I was afeard
Of getting lost in Grandad's beard:
A fungus so completely wild,
Enough to smother any child.
Like some malicious creeping vine,
It surreptitiously entwined itself
Around whatever came within its reach.
Another unappealing feature
Was the stomach-churning stink
Of long-lost food and soaked-up drink.
My brother Bob and I were both
Scared stiff of Grandad's facial growth;
When mother said, 'Kiss Gran goodnight',
We gave it up without a fight,
But when it came to Grandad's kiss,
We couldn't face his orifice.
Surrounded as it was with hair,
Not knowing what was lurking there,
We told ourselves, without a doubt,
If we go in, we won't get out.
Until… oh Bob you silly dope,
If only you had fixed a rope
Around your waist before you went exploring,
As Grandad sat there gently snoring.
But no, you set off unprepared
Through tatty-matty-tangled hair,
Ignoring all we'd ever said…
All common sense had left your head.
You briefly turned, and waved, and smiled…
And I became an only child.
Poem: Grandad's Beard
