Claire V. Bogdanos

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 !