An Igot Poem by Liilia Talts Morrison

The other day I found this object
And wondered why it was created
The lion does look fierce and brave
With hieroglyphs engraved around it

By weight it could be made of lead
By size it fits into my hand
By color burnished, greenish blend
Could it be old or newly formed?

I know that many spend their lives
In search of treasure deeply hid
In waters or in caves of mold
And sometimes find a thing of worth

But I am like that wispy clerk
Who when I asked what it would cost
She looked at it with fleeting eyes
And threw it in my bag for nought

Today I look at this antique
Enjoying thoughts of vintage gems
Full knowing that within a week
It will move on to other hands

What value, then, is a rare find
If it takes up my precious day
Whose hours never can return
Whose spirit can be choked with gold

And whether Greek or Mycaneae
Or of some fabled empire formed
What matters if it secrets holds
When all the truth has oft been told

No piece of metal can compare
To words hewn into hearts with blood
The living words and symbols burned
Into the souls of mortal men

I'll never dive into the deep
Or dig for gloried empire's ruins
But oft release rich, worldly goods
To make room for my Savior's hand.