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It's just a coin.

Maybe, to you.
Something small,
replaceable.
Not to me.

Six hungry mouths to feed,
ten precious coins
for bread and meat,
ten times a hard day's work,
ten coins to last us
a week, maybe two.
And then?
We'll see
as we always do.

But now there's just nine.
Where is the lost?

It's just a coin.
Maybe, to you.
Not to me.

One night more
awake to the tune
of hungry children crying
themselves to sleep,
one day of labour wasted away,
one day's sweat poured out in vain,
precious hope and sustenance
collecting dust
somewhere under a cupboard.

It's just a coin.
But I will turn this house
upside-down if I must.
And I will sweep away the dust
and shine my light in the darkest corners,
move furniture, disturb the cat,
I will not rest
until I find that coin at last.
And when I do - celebration!

It's just a coin.
Maybe, to you.
And you can leave it where it lies,
and go on with your life.
But to me it's so much more -
and so much greater the joy
when I hold it in my hands again at last.

Imagine, then:
God,
a poor woman like me,
and you
the precious coin she seeks,
a precious coin she needs,
not worthless or small or replaceable,
not useless
but the fruit of sweat and tears,
valuable for the work ahead,
worth looking for.