A piece of string,
A simple thing.
But things even as simple as this can cause
Great suffering.

One day I was going to the market
A trivial thing but,
Chance can always mess with things.
I found a piece of string upon the road.
I picked it up because surely,
Everything must have a use.
Little did I know one of my enemies was watching,
I quickly hid the string and pretended as if I picked up nothing at all,
and that I was still looking for what caught my eye.

Later that day someone reported a missing pocketbook,
Chance had just sealed my fate.
My enemy saw me pick up the string at the time of loss,
I looked for something after picking up the string.
But the worst thing is that,
Not a random bystander that watched this,
But an enemy,
And they can’t be trusted.

He molded this piece of string,
Into the missing pocketbook and told the mayor.
The mayor didn’t believe the story of the string,
As the cards were stacked against me.

And then the rumors spread.
Even rumors can ruin someone,
Even with no evidence to back them up.
Everyone thought I stole the pocketbook,
And the more I say in my defense, the more they think I am lying.
Even when someone turned it in,
they simply thought it was a confederate that I hired to turn in the book.
This only deepened suspicion,
And no-one trusted me when trading.
So here I am,
Starving,
Embarrassed,
Ashamed,
And on my deathbed.
Writing this to you to tell you the truth,
It was all a simple piece of string,
Come,
See for yourself.