A Poem About Money

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My husband wrote this poem years ago when I was going through a poetry phase.  It’s a little silly in some parts but has an overall great lesson to be learned.  I hope you enjoy it.

 

A Poem About Money

I’m looking at a penny sitting lonesome on the street

And I can’t help but think of how it reminds me

That if I were to pick it up and receive it as my own

No one would care

They may wonder why…

 

So I’d tell them a story of when I was a kid

How I lived on the street and my home had a lid

Where the sound of a car horn was my ambient noise

And I had hypodermic needles to play with for toys

 

When it rained I’d get wet, when it snowed I’d be cold

And the corner of Concord and 1st is where I thought I’d grow old

People ignored me and counted my worth

Just like the pennies which had fallen to earth

 

So I collected each one to make as a friend

And before I knew it, one became ten

As I saved that small ten, I still found more

And in just a few short years, I had ten thousand in store

 

I became quite well known to entertain a laugh or two if you threw me some change

In their arrogance they chuckled that I would scurry to obtain

Money so worthless they were glad to throw away

And just as my pennies grew in numbers so fast

So did the people who would throw change for a laugh

 

When I was a few years older, I had saved quite a bit

So I bought the small store on the corner where I would sit

I really only bought it cause I knew it so well

I didn’t have much of anything that I could sell

 

Well I rented it out for the right market cost

And I changed just like that from servant to boss

Then I learned from a paper that I found on the road

That a bank would lend me money, in lieu of the store that I owned

 

Then a man that I knew cause I saw him every day

Who owned the building that was down the street a little way

He told me of how he wanted to sell

So I said, “Sure!  I’ll buy your hotel!”

 

The street that I grew up on, I now own every store

And my purse at the bank just grows more and more

Now the very same people who found humor in my want

Now pay me rent on the first of every month

 

Although a penny by itself is rather worthless indeed

When put into a person’s hand, it’s potential is freed

 

Author:  Jesse Lee

Money Poem Image

 

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