The Boy refused to wash his hair,
Despite the smell, he didn’t care.
One day the hat on his head moved
He scratched his head, the itch to remove.
His grandfather, came into the room,
shocked to see the hair, had turned into a garden in bloom.
Insects and vermin amid eggs and weeds,
The boys blood, was the creatures feed.
The old man, picked up the garden shears,
Vowing to rid the boy of hair, despite his tears,
He sheared the boy, as though a lamb,
Now is as bald as a baby, in a pram.
Let this be a warning, you must wash your hair,
You could by accident, have mice living there!