Ode to my Bald Spot

Once I was a lush spring field
Now I’m the egg of the Great Roc
I fear the fate of my pate is sealed
my hair is running down its clock

Born bald, I shouldn’t now regret
my personal ozone hole
The span of a man’s hair is set
The years demand their toll

As my hair descends to obscurity
I must accept with grace
The tonsured surety of male maturity
the growth of that empty space

Where once the noggin’s pride did sprout
growing as it pleased
now is bare of hair as a trout
my vanity’s deceased.