Once upon a time in the country of Texas
There was a girl named Stephie with a mutated nerve plexus
It affected, however, not her nerves but her hair
A problem which began a most unfortunate affair
For starters, Stephie was stubborn as an mule
To her, her follicles were as precious as jewels
So whenever others implored her with combs
And scissors, Stephie would say “Leave me alone!
I don’t want my hair touched. Won’t you go away?
If you don’t you’ll be served on a cafeteria tray!”
And thus Stephie’s hair began growing and growing
So when she had dandruff it was like it was snowing
It became a long mat, an extraordinary train
That turned into pure frizz when she was stuck in the rain
Objects got caught up into this mass
A Frisbee, a kitten, a Sunday School class
They were all dragged behind as Stephie went places
And showers were difficult, as shampoo in their faces
Caused allergic reactions, and so they did rap
“How can we get out of this flea-bitten trap?
We can’t use scissors since our hands are ensnared
Will we ever get out? Oh darn it, we’re scared!”
Stephie, of course, was oblivious to this
She had no idea that anything was amiss
So she frolicked along, happy as a lark
Until the day when she encountered a spark
It came out of her fireplace and latched itself on
To her hair, with whom it formed a close bond
The strands began to smoke, then a flame appeared
Said Stephie: “I’m sure glad this isn’t a beard!”
With a snap of her finger it all came off
And piled in a convenient fire-proof trough
Said the Sunday School class: “Steph, what the frig?”
Said Stephie with a shrug: “It was only a wig”
She carried on merrily, avoiding their glares
And locked herself away in her room, far upstairs
So remember, when you see Stephie's hair
Do not be alarmed, but do take care