A dime on the road catches my eye,
partly submerged in dirt and grime.
So I pass it by.
My life, it seems, is submerged, awry;
And in this mire I don’t have time
For a dime in the road that catches my eye.
I once had a dream, but by and by
It transformed, submerged—and lost its rhyme.
So I passed it by.
Perhaps when the grime is hardened and dry
When my dream is no longer covered in slime,
A dime on the road will catch my eye.
I’ll stop and hold it and laugh and cry.
I’ll think of the dream and I’ll think of the dime
I once passed by.
In this sweet time, with the past gone by,
I’ll say of the memory, as if describing a crime:
“A dime on the road caught my eye.
And I passed it by.”