Holding On

An old clothespin slips from the line,

a sudden drop, as if it knows my time.

Metallic spring glints in the sun's gentle glow,

a reminder of moments that cling like a shadow.

I remember hands, weathered and worn,

hanging each piece, the fabric was torn.

Laundry lines were lifelines, a rhythm of care,

like laughter shared softly in the open air.

Now the pin lies abandoned, its purpose misplaced,

in a world that spins faster, leaving no trace.

Yet it clings to my heart, a symbol of days,

of simpler times, where love found its ways.