When I curled it slightly with my fingers it resembled the angular horns of the placid cow; standing up in alacrity,
Shimmering vibrantly in the sunshine; with unruly bristles of hair protruding out rampantly from umpteenth quarters.
When I combed it scrupulously with a serrated brush; it settled to perfectly commensurate proportions,
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A beautiful poem on mustache. Enjoyed..