It echoed through our gang for years
That someone made it rich
And buried a mega store of pennies
In an unmarked secret ditch

A group of mates formed a pact
To never attend that treasure alone
And all sworn members must be present
At the counting of any loan

Mysterious owners of this wealth
Are still unknown to this day
But rumour and innuendo
May soon give them away

Many years have folded now
A score and a decade at least
Since Webster’s treasure abounded
To produce a copper feast

Sleuths will try forever
To track a man, a name, a face
And nominate who moved the pennies
From a paddock called Webster’s place.