A new lover

You pick me up,a coin someone has lost,

and rub me between thumb and forefinger.

I try to be new,even to shine a little.

You look for my denomination,

examine the face stamped on me.

I make myself rare,almost a real king.

Still not enough.You incline a doubtful ear,

strike me,and listen.I ring for you

with my purest sound,almost flawless.

And last,as an experienced money changer,

you bite me:perhaps it will bend,

this phony gold piece.

But I am hard,I stand the test;not gold,but still

a decent alloy.Reassured,

now you can spend me,at your will.