Little Bronze Coin

Shovels held in busy hands
separating hot, red dirt.
His olive like skin dripping sweat
scared, tired, waiting to go home.
No notes to ease the memories,
just scars and shell shocked men.
But with a small clank of the shovel,
a dull treasure falls from the wall.
Like a message from God,
a little bronze coin lands upon his black boot.
The coin is a support, a guide,
directing him where to go.
Crying, cards and cigarettes,
all surrounding him.
But the little, bronze coin,
brings the peace within.