The Florin
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A Threepence met a Florin once,
In a Merchant's Weathered Hand,
Spellbound with Her Sun Washed Glow,
Before in His Purse, She Went,
He was a Worn, Tarnished Silver,
As Most Thruppenny Bits were,
Flitting from Hands to Pockets,
Blithe of Fate, Till Her Allure,
He Wished Not to be Bartered That Day,
Longing Instead, for a Measure in that Purse,
To Again Sight Her Burnished Gold,
The Glint of His Dreams, Terse,
La Fiorino D'oro,
The Only Coin Worth Saving,
Minted by More Careful Hands,
The One Men Loathed Parting...
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