The junk drawer gaped a cluttered maw

The junk drawer gaped, a cluttered maw,

where chaos reigned, defied all law.

For batteries, I dug and sought,

a silver thimble, finely wrought,

but tarnished deep, too small to fit

a finger now, it just would sit.

Beside a bent, forgotten clip,

that held a memory on its lip

from years ago, a child's design.

This tiny thing, it felt so mine.

Lost screws, dried bands, a broken key,

all kept their quiet company.

This thimble, though, held silent sway,

a constant truth, come what may.