There once was a big ball of twine
When unwound, it simply would whine
Yet smaller and smaller
No longer could holler
It knew it was only a line!
Combined with some other neat shades
The string found that it had it made
Then formed like a square
And cut off without care
The pieces were carefully laid!
Just as the world’s full of color
Routine gets incredibly duller
Yet each square of many
Is combined with just any
This coat is much more than a stellar!
So even if the yarn is not intact
But taken and snipped with impact
It still makes a whatcha-ma-jiggie
Don’t keep track of this little piggie
Because it is useful in fact!
Tie a piece onto your finger
And maybe the moment will linger
How could you ever forget?
When most of your blood has been let!
And Hamlet, you are a dead-ringer!
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