When I was young and just a lass
I found a lovely bead of glass
Its color was the purest gold
The shape was bevelled and quite old.
I’d often thought from whence it came
And did its owner have a name
How foolish now as I recall
It hid amongst the leaves that fall.
But such a girl I was back then
I thought about it not again
For beads of glass without a home
Are objects of forgotten tome.
We cannot find the rest of it
And only have the smallest bit
‘Twould be a waste of time and care
To seek whatever once was there !