As I was walking, deep in thought,
I saw a penny on the ground.
I stooped to pick the copper up;
Erect, the thought could not be found.
Oh, well. It happens all the time.
As I grow older, thoughts oft fly
As fast as quail burst from their walk,
As far as rockets pierce the sky.
At least this time, the shiny cent,
The cause I chanced to come across,
Is parked still in my pocket, safe,
And I have payment for my loss.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I quite liked the verses... Dennis. Thanks for sharing.
I'm glad you did. Thanks.