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STRING
String is somewhere between thread and rope,
Too thick for sewing but can't tow a boat.
It flies a kite, a roast together.
Tied 'round my finger it helps me remember.
Has a thousand uses, costs less than tape.
I can buy a whole spool for just one-ninety eight.
My cat plays with it and the birds build a nest,
From bits they find on their nest building quest.
String beans taste good but don't produce string;
I'm not sure why they are called such a thing.
If you are stringy, that means you are thin.
Better to be stringy than dingy or grim.
I can tie up a bean plant or measure a room
Or weave a mat on my small hand loom.
There are strings of pearls and strings of beads,
Strings of Christmas lights to hang on fir trees.
Computers use strings though not the same kind
And so do pianos and Venetian blinds.
I can sit and do string art for hours and hours,
Making pictures and figures and even some flowers.
Some strings of events can make me whine
Like a sting of accidents at commute time
String can mean something I do,
Some of it nice, some not so cool.
I can string you up or string you down
Just as long as I don't string you along.
I can string my guitar with threads of steel
And to break one of those is no big deal.
But the strings of the heart are delicate indeed
Easily broken by love's misdeeds.
Only God can restring it again
With healing strings of love by Him.
His great love cannot be matched.
He gives it so freely, no strings attached!
© 2005 Rita L. Betti
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