Wassuna

Wassuna, with a heart of gentle rain,

Knew magic lived in whispered words, in pain.

She'd mend a tear in fabric, worn and thin,

With patient touch, a needle's guiding win.

One day, a glass, it slipped and fell so fast,

A spiderweb of cracks, a shattered past.

Wassuna knelt, a tear escaped her eye,

"Please, glass," she breathed, "don't shatter, don't you die."

She closed her eyes, a whispered, mending plea,

But when she looked, the cracks stared back, you see.

The broken thing, it stayed in shards that lay,

No magic spell could take the pain away.

Wassuna sighed, a lesson learned that day,

Some broken things, they don't just mend that way.

With careful hand, each shard she picked so slow,

A patient heart, a will that wouldn't go.

With glue and care, the pieces joined as one,

A web of silver where the breaks had begun.

The glass, reborn, held light in fractured grace,

A mended heart, a wisdom in its place.

Wassuna smiled, a tear upon her cheek,

Some things are broken, but can still be sleek.

With love and work, the cracks may never hide,

But beauty blooms where once the world had died.