Initial

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.