An oar, a clip

Some saw an oar on the ship,
but his eyes laid on a fallen clip.
From the corner of his gaze, a subtle sway of a hip—
A little boy sighed, “There goes my wind,”
He whispered again, “There goes my wind.”

He picked up the clip;
Gave it a playful flip,
clip, though pretty, lay unnoticed and plain, a quiet charm, while others looked on with disdain.

The clip carried him back to another time,
he was happy and life rang with chime—
moments he’d shared with his soulmate,
a memory whose taste he longed to recreate.

The glory had faded, but his vision stayed bright;
inside his heart, something still felt right.
Another glance, ah clip, then it fell from his sight,
he just wanted to feel light.

Memory  was fragile, but it had left a trail.
He bid goodbye to the clip,as the ship set sail.
Birds wheeled above and told him it was time
Return home again, with a little dust and grime.

Time can heal better than most—
like a weary soldier, he slipped off his coat.
Winter had passed; a new summer had come,
and a small, soft smile rose up from his tongue.

Once more he murmured, “There goes my wind,”
Found back memories that had once been so kind.
For every picture we weave carries a cluster of stories,
Telling us we do not live in deeds alone,
but in their lingering, gentle memories.