The Shearer's Daughter
I was chatting away, as you do,
To the lass who was cutting my hair;
I could see all her work in the glass,
As she moved to and fro 'round the chair.
Well she certainly knows what she's doing,
I thought, as the scissors and comb
Were applied with the skill of her craft;
And we talked about life, about home.
But just then she passed a remark
That put some grave doubts in my mind;
Her father's a professional shearer!
Could she p'raps be of the same kind?
'Twas now far too late to pull out,
For the job was already half done;
And you cannot restore all that hair
Again after the cutting's begun.
Would I go with the cut that I wanted?
For that was the reason I came;
Would it be more or less like her father's,
Whose clients all come out the same?
That worrying thought was misplaced,
'Twas the school, not her father, that taught 'er,
I'll go back again for a haircut
To Amy, the good shearer's daughter.
