I took a weekend ride into the forest

and found a penny lying in a dell,

its date was blurred, the edges smooth and tarnished,

I thought of all the stories it could tell.

I wondered if it ever saw the ocean,

the rolling, ever-moving steely green

that crashes on the rocks in deep percussion,

had this old penny witnessed such a scene?

Perhaps it sat for years inside a jam jar,

the savings of a frugal little boy,

a lad who'd rather walk than pay a tram car

or spend his nest-egg on some silly toy.

I slowly walked, and thought of its adventures,

if coins could talk - would this one tell of woe?

A tale of church and candles, whispered mantras

as someone sends a prayer for little Joe.

Perhaps a merry time lived at a fairground?

A daily ride inside the old arcade,

then one night some young lady lets her hair down

and wins the jackpot on the coin cascade.

And did that lady live inside a mansion?

A stately home with stairs and polished floors,

till one day in a show of good intention

the penny paid a man to do some chores.

Then was the penny spent in sullen anger?

or did the pride of one poor man stand tall,

not ready to accede to cold and hunger,

a wish to work for living - that was all.

Perhaps he passed the coin onto a beggar?

A man worse off than he who'd spend it well,

and add to other coins to buy some liquor

to sleep away his daily living hell.

Did someone come out here upon a picnic?

It may have fallen from a man on horse,

the kind of man who kept a coin for good luck,

I wonder if he feels a deep remorse.

I looked down at the coin, and saw confession,

a wish to tell the story of its years,

I don't know why it gave me such emotion,

my vision blurred, the salty sting of tears.

I tossed the coin away as twilight misted,

and felt a sobbing rush of deep release,

that penny opened doors that time had rusted,

I knew I'd somehow found an inner peace.