The Coin

 

My story is strange, 
To understand it, you need less brains

and more open of a heart, 
I was a coin with lots of shine, 
Then I passed through hundreds of hands

one after the other,--

The moulding darkness gave me fearful creep, 
And I was lying at the top of the mint’s heap, 
Somehow I was given to a young guy, 
Who tossed me in air and made me fly, 
Then I was given to an old lady,
She kept in a place that was very shady, 
I noticed I had lost my shine, 
And I didn't look young and fine. 
That is because I had grown old, 
Now, I know my life's story is told,
There are endless scars

and imprints on my soul.

I have lost my value in my own esteem,

But they still haggle over me sometime.