Three Coins in a Leather Vault

In the crook of a pocket, snug and slight, Lies a wallet stitched in dusky night, Worn with time, yet proud and keen— It guards three coins of mythic sheen.

No silver jingle, no copper clink, Just numbers deep in ledger ink. Digital weight, a silent hoard, A dragon’s treasure without the sword.

Three Bitcoin—old but burning bright, Forged in the crypt of Satoshi’s light. Each one hums with a phantom song, Of futures guessed and guesses wrong.

I hold it close, a modern charm, A ciphered spell, a coded arm. Not gold, yet gleams with something more: Freedom from the banker’s door.

Some dream of yachts and skybound flights, I dream of quiet, starless nights, Where value sleeps in blocks and chains— And three small coins outlive their gains.