The Brooch

A baker kept a small café.

Business was poor.
Some days,
the tables stayed empty.

Still, the café was open every day.

One evening,
while sweeping the floor,
he found a brooch.

It was small.

Silver,
with a simple design.

He turned it in his hand.
Someone had lost it.

He thought of handing it in.

Then he thought of flour,
of repairs,
of what it could bring.

It was not much,
but still something.

He set it aside.

“I’ll decide tomorrow,”
he said.

The next morning,
it was where he had left it.

He looked at it,
then put it down.

Another day passed.

“Tomorrow,” he said again.
He did not hand it in.

On the third morning,
guards entered the village.

They went door to door.

“The princess has lost a brooch,”
they said.
“We will search every place.”

The baker stood still.
He looked at the brooch.
It did not seem like much.

He looked at the door.

Too late for tomorrow.