Pick this coin of copper, not silver or gold,
To reflect on times remote and things old.
Sweat and grime stained its faded face,
Touched by trouble, toil and tedium that time won't erase.
Heads it is - and look, the head of a Sovereign before.
Flip it over - it's a cent - just a cent and nothing more.
But rickshaw pullers earned it running here and there,
Like beasts of burden - yet, little to eat or wear.
Into the safe of our hearts we slip this copper coin
That the fading fleeting years don't take, nor thieves purloin.
This vintage coin, a witness of time, is surely a special thing,
A better treasure than a minted gold-crowned king
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem