Price

Price

In market stalls where voices rise,
A quiet ledger holds the ties—
Each coin exchanged, a whispered trade,
The worth of things that hands have made.

Not only gold nor silvered gleam,
But moments bought within a dream:
A laugh, a glance, a fleeting sigh,
All weighed upon the passer‑by.

The sunrise costs no penny yet
It gifts the day a richer net;
A tear may fall, unpriced, untold,
More precious than any minted hold.

So let us count not just the pence,
But what the heart compensates—
For true value lies beyond the till,
In love, in hope, in quiet will.