Classic Poem

They told me to save my pennies,
But I scorned to be prudent and wise,
And I poured them out by the lapful
To please the old Gypsy's eyes;

Yes, even my mother's luck-piece
I laid in her wheedling palm,
To pay for my iron breast-pin
And my vial of Wayfarer's Balm.

So you need not flutter your ribbons
And trinkets before my eyes;
I have travelled since that May morning,
And oh, I am very wise!

There's an old, dim shop in a city
I'll be seeking before I die:
For I've got just three gold pennies —
And I know what I want to buy.