Clangs upon the road.
Sees sun by day and the bottoms of shoes,
Catches dew as the day grows old.
Passersby pass it by,
It settles in the muck.
Tamped down,
Beaten down,
Folks who've gone are out 'o luck.
Its sheen is dulled, its copper's green.
Faded metal blends right in.
Kicked at,
Scuffed at,
Catch a glimpse, it's gone again.
A grubby hand reaches down,
Feels then scoops it up,
Finds a place that'll do it good,
Adds to one 'o those charity cups.
Passersby pass it by,
A penny lost unspent,
Worthless,
Valueless,
'Cept to those without a cent.