Silver dollar son
Every year like clockwork
Same old gift from my grand mother
Same old fake smile for thanks
Walk away thinking
What good is a dollar in 1983 Just barely 10
But I was young and childish then
My mom always took my silver dollar from me
cause I never knew what that silver dollar meant
And I didn’t mind losing so little money
That my mom secretly stashed away
Then one year it happened
No silver dollar was given to me
Heaven had taken the supply
My grandmother always gave with glee
And Christmas was filled with tears
No grandmother, no eggnog
No Santa, no joy, no cheers
We sat around an empty tree
Counting down silver dollars
Like counting down all the years
And I remember how little it seemed
Now that I am older
I realize how much that silver dollar meant to me
It was not the money but the love
That was past through her gentle touch
So now I hand those same silver dollars to my son
Hoping that he will understand
That is not the value of a dollar but the value of love
This poem is a part of The Collaboration Project
- Thanks to Shannon Wendler for allowing me to work on her poem.