Loving the Unloved: Ode to the Penny Pocket Piece

No one loves me now.

But once, long ago, I enjoyed a charmed relationship.
I was cherished.
My keeper had faith. I was magic: A good luck piece.
And so, I was never forgotten. Always in the left pocket.
During arguments, I was vigorously rubbed; in lines, I was flipped over and over again; by the hearth, I was studied.
I was never dropped.

Back in the goode olde dayes

Well, a few hands tossed me back when I had some shine; I went from cash box to cash box.
Then one day, I was kept.
There I stayed: In the pocket.
After years of service, I was moved to a purse.
I became a still point in a world moving all around me.
At some point, I cannot remember when, I was re-examined. It was not by the hearth. No, it was a fumbling hand with a big glass.
I was encased in cellophane and labeled "ungradeable."
That's not even a word.
Poor-0.5 -- What a stupid designation.
They whisper that I have no "eye-appeal."
But I do. I am smoothed by countless touches. A refuge for tense, bored, or inquiring fingertips.
I am beautiful. I am a ghost.
But there's more. What I offer is more immediate. Bring on the fingertips.
I have a history too. Unknowable perhaps, but full of action.
And, best of all, I am magical.
Yes, I am a lucky penny. (I know, I know, it is "cent," but I'm not a braggart).
I think everyone should have a pocket piece: A lucky talisman.

Thanks to the necromancer. He loves me (again).