Poem: The Romance of the Beard (a Ballade of True Love)

I posted this on Facebook a little while ago, so this is nothing new, but thought I'd add it here for posterity.

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The Romance of the Beard
(a Ballade of True Love)

Since first I cared, love's been a magic door:
Friends could pass through, but I'm locked in my cell.
My grandma blamed my beard, "a coarse eyesore!
That facial hair marks romance's death knell!"
But one night at the bar where oft I dwell
a small hand on my back gently appeared.
I looked up from my toxic, lonely hell.
She looked not in my eyes but at my beard.

I gasped, so long untouched, now wanting more.
She pulled me close, out from my forlorn shell.
"Join me" she murmured, stroking the contour
of my rough beard as though entranced by spell.
I said "My name is UMPH" as she propelled
Her lips on mine (and on my moustache near).
But though a dream, one thing my ardor quelled:
She looked, not in my eyes, but at my beard.

Though hard to pull away, away I tore.
"Tonight my beard makes your passion upswell.
But what of days to come? And weeks, and more?
To last, our spirits must be matched as well."
She said, "I know, but that concern dispel,"
then smiled in hope that I not think her weird,
and donned fake hair of yarn and crushed pastel.
I looked not in her eyes, but at her beard.

And now we're joined like hairs with wax or gel
Our fates like face with facial hair cohered.
And when my grandma asks, to her I tell:
"Look in our in love eyes, see both our beards!"

(c) Joe Palmer 2012