Not to cling when it has clung

String and strung

There are times we want to sing,
Yet have no idea what is to be sung,
Even if we had voices we could fling,
How far could that really be flung?
Everything that makes a good ring,
Is not what put you in the best rung,
For those who we seek not to cling,
They bother as to whom to be clung,
At that point, you hear a loud ding,
It is not the falling of solid dung,
Then you avoid it all with a swing,
And slap into a wall you have swung,
The pain and the cracking does sting,
Your folly and adventure left you stung,
A nurse with a poultice ready to wring,
On the sores and things that went wrong.