Onto her creased palm, lime scented glue she poured
To mend the loose page on that book she'd borrowed.
As she spread the glue, a pleasant feeling of release.
For to piece broken things together brought her peace.

What of the glue that lingered on her palm, though?
Across the sides of her petite hand did overflow...
She beheld its yellow viscosity in an odd little trance.
From the faint aroma, a new line of thought did advance.

Maybe she could use it to stick a note in her dorm,
To remind her that in life, transience is the sole norm.
Or to fix a friendship once worthy of the bards,
That had silently shattered into a million shards.

Or perhaps even use it on the heart hiding within her,
So the poor old muscle could heal a little quicker...
She turned on the tap with a frustration so fierce,
And washed off the lime glue along with her tears.