|Poetry & ProsePoetry & Prose OnlineDavid K. Weiner
Leave The Change
I have a story, sad to tell
About a man called Arnie Fell.
Tho' old he was both strong and well.
Then hailed to heaven, there to dwell.
When young, a tragedy befell,
A thing his mother deigned to tell:
He lost his hearing one time he fell,
When calling him she had to yell.
The somber tale I now must tell
That always makes me feel unwell
Occurred because of Arnie's spell
To pick up coins, where e'er they fell.
One night, long past the midnight knell
As Ernie skipped toward where he'd dwell,
Still captured by the happy spell
Brought by his lady's perfumed smell.
Aware of tracks, but not the bell
He ventured cross; and now I tell
Bout Ernie's going to heaven to dwell.
For on the tracks he could not quell
His lust for coins that earlier fell
From some poor soul, with no farewell.
As Ernie bent to clear the dell
Of shiny dimes, he heard no bell.
No soul around would hear his yell
As train and cars made human jell.
The moral of the yarn I tell:
Ignore dropped coins, and hark the bell,
And if you do, you'll long stay well.