Monday Morning Poetry, January 8

Roman coins by Helen Hall courtesy of Flickr.jpg

Lost

 

I left the flock,

wandered far into the hill country

leaving the ninety-nine to themselves.

Surely, the shepherd would not miss me.

 

I slipped out of a purse

before my mistress would hand me over to a merchant.

Surely, the nine other coins

would suffice her needs.

 

So, I’m the lost sheep, the lost coin

alone in MY loneliness until suddenly

I heard a shepherd’s call

and I felt a broom in search of me.

 

Robert Morneau