Convention Schwag Spree

In the heart of a bustling convention hall,
I sought schwag, freebies that would enthrall.
Amidst the collogue of eager nerds,
A salesperson's pitch, sweet as canorus birds.

"Behold," he proclaimed, a gadget so grand,
A marvel I'd never held in my hand.
He spun his tale, convincing and sly,
I succumbed, though my budget asked why.

I envisioned its use, a tool of allure,
Yet doubts lingered, obscure and unsure.
With a swipe of my card, a purchase so fleet,
I left, schwag forgotten, my heart's new heartbeat.

Yet reality struck, remorse like a song,
Had I been dazzled, my judgment so wrong?
A treasure now mine, though I pondered its worth,
Perhaps I'd been swayed by the allure of the girth.

Back in the crowd, schwag-laden and gay,
I clutched my new trinket, excitement in sway.
For a moment, satisfaction in my eyes,
But a whisper of reason, a regretful surprise.

In the glow of convention lights, I weighed the cost,
A canorus tune of overspending embossed.
Yet there, in my hands, a gadget unknown,
A tale of collogue and purchases overblown.