I used to live in a big town,
growing up the place got
smaller till it was a village
Four roads leading to its
square and a church that
needed its roof repaired.

The collection box by its
steps, asking people to
donate for that end, was
a welcoming sight when
coming back after years
in the wilderness.

Before leaving I put a shiny
button there, off an officer’s
uniform for sure and it
gave a reassuring clank on
meeting other buttons;
suppose it’s rusty now.

The button meant a lot to me,

after all it had been rubbed
shiny by being in my pocket
when it was my only treasure

My childhood is in a church’s
collection box.