Dalis moustache was too large for his face
So it waxed ninety years on his cheeks
It was not as taller as the surrealist himself
Though it lasted many decades more
It was grown on the morn of the day that he was born
And was always his treasure and pride
But it waxed, longer never to fade again
When the old man died
37 years without slumbering
its life seconds numbering
It stopped, short never to grow again
When the vain fool died
My grandfather said that of those he could hire
such a servant so faithful retained
For it wasted no time and had but one desire
At the close of his death to remain
And it kept in its place, not a frown upon its face
And its hands stood smart by their side
But it stopped short, never to grow again
When the old man died