You little plastic curse.
You sulking, suffering muse.
Wrapped tight 'round my wrist
And at this, my memory.
What do you want from me?
To remind me of her?
Why should I remember?
Why should I listen to you, bauble?
Are your beads a message?
Am I to think of her now?
Each shining moment brightened in turn,
Each instant immortal along your strand.
Should I dwell on her touch?
Sit here idle, remembering?
Think of how her smile caught me?
Endure this torture voluntarily?
...
Message received, little beads.
I miss her too,
But she'll be back soon enough
To take you away from me.