To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
Click Here To add this poem to your "Voting Possibilities" list!
American Coins My American coins look small, nestled among great wheels of copper, aluminium, brass. They might be small but they have class, and yet seem strange, out of place among my French pocket change. Coins of my childhood, of my realm, of piggy bank times, earned from mowing lawns, once pressed into my hand by doting grandparents. Penny-- you once could buy me ten jaw-breakers, Nickel-- you were once good for a double-dip ice cream cone, Dime-- you used to get me into the Saturday matinee, Quarter-- you were once my weekly allowance, and you, Half Dollar-- you were once a whole fortune! We're a long way from home, small change; we're not kids anymore, petty cash, each other is all we got now, pocket money. |
Additional Notes:
This poem was in a collection titled "France Poems" and also in "CRS" and "Involvement."
Sorry, there are no critiques for this poem in our system... If the poem is older, the critiques have been purged!