Our Granddad bought a toupee
Meant to hide his balding spot.
In winter it was snug and warm
But in summer it was hot.
It caused his head to itch a lot,
Which drove him almost mad,
But he wouldn’t take it off outside
And this was rather sad.
The situation was so bad
That he groaned at everyone.
He was miserable, quite fretful
And he didn’t have much fun.
As soon as he returned back home,
He’d take it from his head:
'My life is good without this thing,'
Is what poor Granddad said.
He sat out in his garden seat;
His work was all complete.
He had a yawn and shut his eyes
And quickly fell asleep.
His head dropped forward on his chest;
The toupee did as well.
Then Mac his terrier dog arrived
And discovered a strange smell.
He pounced upon the toupee
For he thought it was a rat.
'I’ll not have rats at my hom-
So I’ll soon dispose of that!'
He held the toupee in his jaws
And shook with all his might,
And Granddad’s feeling happier now
Without an itch in sight.
Copyright on all my poems
Where do poets get their ideas from? I'm often asked this question by children. The person in this poem was a granddad, yes, but he was also my Uncle Jack and this is a true story which I hope makes you laugh. Josie