Poet of the River
A Million Coins (Happy/ Short Story)
I have found a coin of bright gold and blue.
So unique and rare it must be new.
Silver trim, smooth and slim, yet rigid on its side.
Its sparkle and shine does nothing but blind, and in my pocket it would hide.
For I mean to share it with no one.
It would be a gift from the world to me,
A gift I would accept happily.
It burns in my hand, hot as a brand, yearning to be seen.
I take a peek, at the glory I seek, and smile to myself blindly.
Walking back to the scene where it was found, I saw a paper lying upon the ground.
It was a forum for a lost coin and for the return of which was offered a heavy sum.
This coin is mine to keep,
Within my pocket it shall sleep,
For no price is worth its pay.
This coin of mine, that glistens and shines,
Will never be given away.
On my walk home, I saw a poor lass,
Sitting upon the sodden ground.
No food, no water, and no effects to be found.
She sat alone by a wall with a note at her feet,
It read please I beg of you, give me something to eat.
I have nothing on me, no food to share.
I checked my bag, but it was empty and bare.
My pockets leaden but no food to be found.
The paper from my pocket, crumpled, falls to the ground.
Out of my pocket, I look down at the coin in my hand.
Its shine, is so divine, surly the most beautiful in the land.
In silence the girl wept with her hands empty.
I look down at the coin in my hand, and then the shoes on my feet.
Perhaps it was sorrow, or perhaps sympathy,
But next to the young girl I took a seat.
I pulled open her hand, and into it the coin did land.
And in silence she looks up to me.
I unwrap the paper and place it on her knee.
“Take this my dear”
She looked up and smiled at me.
Closing her eyes with a single tear.
For this child’s smile is more beautiful to me,
Than any possession I hold dear.
A smile is worth a million coins, and it always will be.
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(c. 600 BCE)
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