Initial
By Pritha B
Published 17 September 2013
Small fingers clutch the tiny golden sun
Bright and thin like silk
Strong and hard under those fingers it run
Not that of silk's ilk
A flat square penny, the same kind of luck
Cool and weightless frame
Smooth canvas on which painted ray-like ruck
A friend's warm embrace
Fingers clutch at the tiny golden sun
Aging yet unchanged
Comforting metal under fingers run
A piece of me saved.
![pritha.jpg](https://redroom-wagtail-prod.s3.amazonaws.com/media/dd/images/51114374baebbb26140fc5670d65468b.jpg)