I miss my glove,
The lonesome one,
It made my pair complete.

It seems quite rude,
To leave this school,
A hand warming symphony.

I feel quite odd,
Prancing about,
With one hand running free.

I fear I'll soon,
Be caught and ruled,
To be a bit loony.

So my glove-less hand,
Just caught a cab,
When there wasn't one to be seen.

People called,
This Faux Pas-ed prompt,
As the next fashionable piece.

My glove-less hand,
Became the talk of the town,
It was in every magazine.

Soon it grew,
Too big for it's shoes,
Or glove as in this case it would be.

It wanted out,
Of my jointed arm,
The world it had to see.

So I sat it down,
And offered it some ***,
Which it did gleefully ****.

The poisoned ***,
Made my hand numb,
The silence could actually be seen.

And that's when I saw,
My long lost glove,
Hiding in my sleeve.