I have become the face side of a penny--
Hoping to be lucky,
But scuffed by a hurrying shoe, turned over in the dust.
Passing faces only see the outside of you--
But I see your heart
And it makes you beautiful.
You are no longer a penny--
Which soon loses its luster--
Or a growing face that becomes old, lost in the shadows.
But a kind heart lives on
In the smiles it once brought,
And the memories of your goodness.
So while I am now a penny, face down,
Worth, seemingly, a mere cent,
I know that my heart is worth more than thousands.
Because you see my soul as beautiful.