The next day Ragz couldn't help but notice
All the stray black strings on the floor,
So she asked her teddy bear, Hugz,
"What are all these strings doing on the ground for?"
"Human hair falls out whenever they're stressed,"
The bear confessed,
"With Stringthing, It's his threads."
"That sounds terrible!"
Ragz loudly screamed,
He's always stressed,
How is he still in one piece?"
"It's okay, it always grows back,"
The bear conversed,
"As long as it doesn't all fall out at once,
Of course."
"He sheds a lot."
Said the slithering scarf snake,
Whom Ragz was wearing around her neck,
"I'm surprised he still is in one piece.
Say,
Come to think of it,
I haven't seen him all day..."
"Oh," Ragz worriedly sighed,
She couldn't take it anymore,
She approached Stringthing's room
And knocked on his door.
When there was no answer
She opened it right away,
And found Stringthing sitting
In front of his fireplace.
A few of his stuffed animals
We're right by his side,
The floor was littered
With empty cans of detangling spray,
And piles of once living string that now had died.
YOU ARE READING
Stringthing
PoetryStringthing, a man made of strings, Lives a quiet life sewing All manner of things. All he wants is to share His creations with all, To bring a multitude of smiles Through his teddies and dolls. But he's all tangled up In what others think of him...
