As milled silver I was welcome

In every gutter, tinkling over cobbles

I rang the truth loudly on solid-oak counters

And tills tolled for me clear as bells.

Boldly I gave myself to many,

Slipped from moist palm to pocket,

Pirouetting without points, jingling

With dull coppers and important keys.

First I was lost in a hundred

Children’s essays, found myself

With pearls in secret pockets,

Counterfeit and shiny.

Then I discovered in a deed-box,

Frowned over as I beamed a dusty smile

Of centuries, polished till I pierced the fondness

Nastily, with a sickly yellow glare.

My smooth face made the end easy;

I piled up with the rest, counted and

Columned, exchanging memories

In a sudden hot flood of death.

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