One of Her Favorite Things

A small nail clippers caught her eye,
a kind you seldom see,
its handle/file, with embedded rose,
in glossy blue translucency.

Just out of her teens, she didn't spend,
what didn't have to be,
but useful for the baby too,
she bought it happily.

It cut so smoothly, on and on,
endured years faithfully.
For a gal who mislaid many things,
in her purse it would always be.

Children whose little nails were trimmed
grew up; still it was in use.
A new purse--exchange the contents,
first in, little clipper, she'd choose.

9-11 disaster, flight rules changed;
Next spring , first time overseas.
Security on their x-ray caught,
clipper's image, "turn over, please."

She argued that it was so dear,
the decades of its use.
Security yielded--remove a file,
a weapon if terrorist would choose.

Its little blade and spring intact,
it still cuts and looks nice.
She owes its perpetuation,
to hearts not made of ice.