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Why is saving, the pennies

to put away,

I find, much harder

than what people say?


My wallet – is sturdy

of material stout.

The holes, I can find none

where the money falls out.


Why is – the more that I save,

the bigger the bills?

Left with only the coppers

to pay at the tills.


Always I scrape by,

the sofa will tip.

Hoping for coinage,

with the stray, apple pip.


But that’s where I found some,

in a week that’s gone bye.

If I was faithful,

I’d turn to the sky.


And ask why it’s raining,

day after day.

To swallow the money,

and flush it away.


A § M 



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