This is a poem written from my mustache's POV.
We used to be very few.
But as each of us grew,
We all began to form.
A 'stache beyond the norm.
Adorning Irell's upper lip.
Near his nose, just under the tip.
At a young age we were there for Irell.
Because of us he was known well.
We've been here for so many years.
Getting cut off is one of our fears.
But we will be here even when he goes bald.
Because true handsomeness can't be stalled.