A lottery ticket

He was a man who kept ever penny as a treasure,

He was a miser of sorts and a hoarder of measure.

Every space in his abode was loaded with things,

From broken china vases to a ceramic angel with wings.


Somewhere buried under all that junk was a coat left to him from Uncle Rob,

And unknown to the miser was a treasure inside a pocket that use to hold a fob.

An old lottery ticket bought on the day Rob passed away,

Left in that small pocket from his last day.


Worth millions it was and not discovered it expired one year from when it was bought,

Never reclaimed, never known about and therefore never sought.

When the miser died they went in and threw tons of crap into the trash bins,

Burned away in the garbage dump was the jacket with the rewards now dead inside, what a horrible sin.


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