The Theft Of The Silver Ribbon

What dire offence from trivial causes springs,
What mighty quarrels rise from little things!
Attend, fair readers, while my verse proclaims
A gentle war of fans, of smiles, and names.

At morning’s glow when golden sunlight played,
Young Clara rose and sought her mirror’s aid.
Her curling hair in shining loops was tied,
A silver ribbon sparkling at her side.

The room was bright with perfume, lace, and art,
Each gentle motion showed a careful heart.
The mirror smiled, the jewels caught the ray,
As beauty’s empire woke to rule the day.

But fate, mischievous spirit of the air,
Prepared a scene both comic and unfair.
For Julian bold, with mischief in his eyes,
Observed the ribbon like a glittering prize.

At noon the guests assembled in the hall,
With laughter light that echoed through the wall.
They praised her charm, her grace, her gentle art—
Yet envy’s whisper stirred in Julian’s heart.

He stepped beside her with a courteous bow,
Pretending calm, though daring thoughts did grow.
One sudden move—swift as a thief at night—
He seized the ribbon, laughing in delight!

A gasp arose; the crowd stood still with shock,
As though the world itself had felt the shock.
Poor Clara blushed, her dignity in flame,
And whispered softly Julian’s guilty name.

“O cruel theft!” she cried with wounded pride,
“My treasured ribbon torn from beauty’s side!”
The ladies murmured, fans began to wave,
And judgment rose both solemn and yet brave.

But soon the storm of anger passed away,
For laughter conquered all before the day.
The ribbon’s loss became a playful tale—
A tiny war where smiles would always prevail.

So learn, dear hearts, from trifles strange and small:
Great drama often springs from none at all.
For human pride, though grand in its display,
May rise and fall within a single day.
                                              -Sulakshana Dutta