Convict's Coin

Chained up to a wet wooden wall,
Hearing the chattering of townspeople below,
Feeling the gentle rocking of the Thames,
He sat fingering a copper penny- his shame.

It had called to him through the glass,
But his death it would be in that hard hot land,
Rubbing off the queen and any other trace,
He needed to get her the message; this his chance.

When on this piece you cast an eye,
Think of the poor man who is not now nigh.
This he had etched and this he would behold,
It went to her the girl of whom I have before told.

She would keep it she promised him,
To look upon in anguish of loss and sorrow.
Come back please but for now goodbye,
She said to the poor man who is not now nigh.

But now what became of their love,
What became of their messenger penny?
No longer remembered but forgotten,
By a careless and ignorant generation.