Maybe today I'll be exchanged,
for some needless copper slug,
or tomorrow I'll be lost,
underneath your persian rug.

I'd like to move through hands and persons,
like a fish moves through the sea -
whereI'd be sure to make my mark,
however small, on history.

But that is a far-off wish,
like the distant Aussi shore,
for I'm doomed to do my travels -
'Quoth the Raven: "Nevermore"'

Today, I'll be a tiny,
little, poiintless piece of change,
and yet years from now you'll find me,
when these chairs you've re-arranged.

I'll be clenched and cupped and cleaned
of my dusty, lint-like fur,
and then popped right into place,
inside a cardboard collector.

For you see, those coins of long ago,
that people do value,
all just started as some little,
worthless piece of metal, too.