The price of luck has gone up.
No more Irish penny wishes and dreams.
Dropping a quarter landing on the floor.
Leaving it behind for another recipient.
Believing in magical powers.
Of Irish folk tales and fairies.
There this shiny piece of Washington lay until the morning’s light.
Not a movement
Not a peep of finding any luck.
All alone.
Well at least this author found good fortune.
Of retrieval to write the lines above.
Maybe it was hidden in plain sight.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It could have been.
LikeLiked by 1 person
👍🏼
LikeLike
I love your poem, Mary Anne.
Find a penny pick it up and all day long you’ll have good luck! 🙂 Maybe you needed daylight!
Thank you very much for sharing with us.
LikeLike
Thank you Sue I am glad you enjoyed the poem 😊
LikeLiked by 1 person