My beard defines me
Upstages and belies me
Warms and hides me
Comforts and cools
Collects food and drools
In salivary pools
And it itches when dry
Catching tears when I cry

It’s brown streaked with grey
A mottled face display
Ive heard it described as untidy by my peers
An it makes me look older than my 46 years
What could be your reason for growing that thing?
People say with a sarcastic sting
Are you just lazy?
Trying to be hip?
Sensitive skin?
Or an ill defined chin?

I ruffle my stubble
Craft and shape it
And reply that those reasons
Fall short and dont fit
It’s a beard of protest
And the rest let them guess
It’s one of the finest things a man can possess.