And so are the shambles that make me weak,

The brambles and tangles when soft I do seek.

They yank and they pull and I'm filled with dread

"Mother dear," I beg, "You are hurting my head."

 

And so the tussle ceases to lessen,

She tugs and pulls 'though I've not learnt my lesson.

The tears begin to form in my eyes,

Still, if it's beauty, I must compromise.

 

You may believe this poem dark,

But onto the rest, I urge you, embark!

The hardships I faced, the struggles of hair;

Simply put, I would soon not care.

 

For on she tugged and I made such a splash

(For I was in a very full bath)

That poor Arnold cat sitting by the door

In his wet shaggy fur looked rather sore.

 

If you read this poem, heed my words!

Cats care far more about their fur than yours!

For when they are wet and are grumpy and slack,

They'll jump on you mother, right on her back!

 

And do not giggle, don't even smirk!

Because once you do, nothing will work!

She'll advance toward you, shaking somewhat,

And slip and fall and crash on her butt.

 

I wanted to laugh, oh, so much so,

that the giggles burst forth like daisies from snow,

And I thought my mother was sure to blow,

But even she, too, couldn't help it though.

 

And so this seems a happy end.

But if there is one message I send,

Do not take a bath -- behold! Beware!

And try to brush out your curly hair!