The Silversmith and The Coin




Sunbeam fell on fingered inch the siversmith did work within,
On pewter gift-coin held in hand in clean white glove of fine linen.

When he with care the coin did hold, it slowly turned from tin to gold,
without a buff with duster, if he kinder felt, increased in lustre.


The coin with precious golden glint, changed back again form gold to tin,
its shine removed by bad intent, much duller when he'd thought a sin.

The rare round coin he kept in secret, in a case once used for snuff.
Late at night he took it out, to see if he was worth enough.


Sat the coin in empty palm, in judgement of his deeds,
measuring his moral value, for benevolence or greeds.

To queen on side by lamp light he each night confessed away,
his posession- beautiful or ugly, in accordance with his day.


Intense was her attention whether good or bad the tales.
To judge since last his actions, she would show him heads or tails.

The coin when flipped would land the same however many tries,
and if he tossed too many, she looked angry in her eyes.


One night as evil deeds he planned the dirty piece began to shrink,
in size which he'd not seen, too late, through fingers fell his tail-side fate.

"Forgive me! please, don't disappear." unusually, he shed a tear,
which landed on the coin below so causing it again to grow.


"Yes yes!, I see thee now again." The claim had changed from one two ten
at his cry "If rich I or I poor!"   its value read as number fo'r.

"I know how my life now to spend, of you and I it is the end.
I'll hand you on to some poor fool who sees his life in terms of gold."


Him saying this the coin then vanished, paying him in fair return,
a new expression to his face so signifying what he'd earned.

Turning head, his interest lost, a frown of loss his facial cost,
that held upon him for a while, soon substituted for a smile.











Bold: rhyme.
     Blue:   alliteration.
     Purple:  opposites.