Dalis moustache was too large for his face
So it waxed nigh sixty years on his cheeks
It was not as tall as the artist himself
Though it lasted many decades in place
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. many 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 smartly by their side
But it stopped short, never to grow again
When the old man died