To Shave Off The Beard

I sought Master Oogway,
I sought Miss Hemingway,
Shall I shave my beard?
Shall I get geared?

“Lose it.”- she answered,
“No way in hell”- Oogway cried,
Up to the judge then,
Mr. Stark egged “Why not friend?”

Attired for the leap,
A triple blade in my grip,
Lather to and fro well,
A deep breath and it begins.

The Niagara tap did flow,
And the razor cut nice and slow,
History one stroke upon stroke fell
Napoleon’s portrait let out a wail.

Fifteen stroke after I rose,
Before the mirror struck a pose,
Flexed a muscle two or three
Five seconds later I did flee!