By a slight thread, it now so hangs,
Of its former glory, a ghost, so pale,
Fills my heart with everyday pangs,
To see it battle, in a fight it'll fail!!!
Mend it did I, but two times round,
As a brave front, it, so stoically held,
The needle pierced; an uncaring hound,
An attempt so vain, its two parts, to weld!
I still remember the day it became mine,
Just the right shade of fine peachy pink,
Aroused in my mind, many emotions divine,
As through its handle, did I, my fingers link!
The first craftswoman could not care less,
With an ugly blot, did she, it ruthlessly bind,
In the span of a day, did it come out; the mess,
A better craftsman, leaving me, to duly find!!!
The second was better by the length of an arm,
He did suture the wound, with fingers so deft,
Skilled was he, or so I believed that day, so calm,
In less than a week, the single string was only left!
Maybe, my friend enjoys its freedom, newfound,
Maybe, it revels in the new air it now breathes,
Maybe, it doesn't want its handle so boringly bound,
Maybe, to tell me something, its heart so seethes!
You've served me well, for months, so many,
My pride; you've been the envy of many eyes,
I've made my peace, you'll ever be my lucky penny,
As I set you free, from any painful, stringy ties!!!
Be held by a lone thread, if it's what you wish,
You'll forever be as good as new for me,
As pretty as ever, as desirable as a tasty dish,
My cellphone pouch, my favourite, will you ever be!
See the Handle Hanging by a Thread?!?