String Poem by Stefan nnn

To steal a soul:
One takes a ball of string,
Sneakses out of the woods,
Quiet-quiet as anything.

Findses a victim,
Pure and mild.
(A little bit dirty
A little bit wild)

You creep up upon them,
All unsuspectin'
Whisper soft in their ear,
A-many a sweet nothing (or something; depending) .

Then you wait.
And worry and think,
(If you are Irish -
You probably drink) .

Worry and wait and wonder and wander.
Sing lalalala, and whistle, and ponder;
Walk up and down, tapping one's chin...
Then jump head-first despairing, into the bin.

Many years pass,
Slippers grow thin.
Who knows what happened,
It isn't currently included in our archive of reportage, though we are in contact with our freelance suppliers in order to attempt to remedy this.

Oh, and...

Why the string?
You confuzzdly ask...
Why, merely to show,
There are none,
Attached.