You emerged from your box, but an accoutrement to this delicate jewel of melodious technology. She was named, called Adelaide, and beloved of her inconstant possessor. But you, oh charger, were denied your laurels. Nary a word of recognition for your exertions was voiced during your tenure. Unfailing was your service, yet unrequited was your devotion.
As is the case with all such heroes, your industry, your zeal, your very essence was terminated by hollow tragedy. Misfortune, capricious mistress, dispatched you without ceremony, once again denying you of your just accolades. Your proud protuberance, the pulsing polestar of your potent power now lists, swaying listlessly to port and prow. Your flaccid appendage, impotent, rests at your base.
And upon this sad day, poor friend, you shall be given your insufficient reward, that one acknowledgement upon which is built the spirit of dignity. You will become known upon your grave. I will call you Willy.
3 comments:
For the sake of willy and your sanity, I just hope that when you try to buy a new charger you do not walk 20 minutes off the metro in the WRONG f-ing direction before realizing you are going to be late as hell for a test...
As much as I love and appreciate poetry, I'm lost. What happened?
My charger broke. I was, however, successful in buying a new one. Crisis Averted.
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