There it lay, all battered and worn,
Damaged by nature and from being trod upon;
Lost or abandoned it mattered not,
It was just lying there on an asphalted parking lot.
Rediscovered and exhumed by a helping hand,
Rescued from exile in a cruel and desolate land,
Scuffed and scratched, scarred and worn,
Its luster was spent, its shine was gone.
Ravaged by rain, and baked by the sun,
And neither loved, lamented or missed by anyone;
Considered valueless by some and a nuisance by many,
There seemed no hope for this solitary penny.
So battered was it from being scuffed and torn,
Its basic markings had all lost their form,
It was clear the coin had been abused for a while,
I barely recognized President Lincoln’s profile!
What came to mind was a painful thought,
About the havoc that the elements had wrought,
About the endless challenges of this single solitary coin,
What about its plight from being overlooked, ignored and forlorn?
Valueless in that isolation, it was never missed by anyone,
Never to be loved, lamented and certainly never mourned;
Such is the fate of too many human souls,
Who are deemed irrelevant and nonessential, with no purpose or goals.
Though scratched and maimed this coin would persevere,
While days turned into months, and months became years;
It endured the shame of abandonment for long days and nights,
Was there no end to its miserable plight?
Then one fortuitous day, an astute eye perceived,
The predicament of this lost coin, thus so aggrieved;
An opportune sighting and a willing hand,
Rescued this desolate coin from the gravel and sand,
Like that coin we all sometime feel forsaken and lost,
Our personal image of self may be much less than most;
Our true qualities are ignored and of hope we’re bereft,
Our pride and dignity drained, until there’s just nothing left.
If the plight of this coin represents even one child,
We have much to do, and we’ll be here for a while,
The scrapes can soon heal, but deep scars may never fully disappear,
But we can help remove the pain, and calm all their fear,
We can build confidence, and instill positive attitudes,
And with loving hands rescue them, from the deep dark moods;
We can reveal their strengths and restore their trust,
Trust in themselves, their community, their families, and us.
A penny is the building block, upon which our currency’s value is based,
Would there be a consequence if that basic coin were erased?
Each of us has a role to play to maintain the strength of our society,
If we get lost or if we are forlorn, what benefit would there be?
So let’s gather all our lost coins, and vow to revitalize and repair,
To ensure that the restored shine and luster, will always, ALWAYS be there;
We must spare no efforts, to completely remove all their blights,
So as to ensure all the children, WILL SOAR TO GREATER HEIGHTS!
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Read Dr. Claude McGowan’s thoughts below as he shares his source of inspiration behind his beautifully written poem, “The Little Lost Penny.”
McGowan: Some time ago, I proposed a Penny Drive to the FLA family to raise funds to buy a trophy case for the FLA lobby. One day we were having a meeting to discuss the progress of the Penny Drive. When I left the meeting, many ideas were running through my head about making the drive more effective. I had parked in our school’s parking. As I was walking along, deep in thought about the drive, I noticed a penny lying on the pavement. Who picks up pennies, right? Yet, this was highly appropriate for the penny drive.
As you can see from the pictures, it was very worn. It got me thinking about our mission at FLA, to lend support to young men, many of whom have been overlooked and discounted even before they’ve had a chance to prove themselves, display their potential, and even learn to believe in themselves. So, on my 35-minute drive home, the thoughts I finally collected for the poem ran through my head. That evening I was able to type out a first draft in which I compared the plight of that penny to what happens to our children if we don’t ensure that they remain relevant. Although FLA is all male and I was inspired by my involvement on behalf of its young men, this poem is interpretatively relevant to both our sons and daughters.