I wonder what there is to pick up on the streets of heaven?

As I walked along
The streets of heaven,
Across bricks of gold
Swept clean and neat,
I chanced to spy
A smallish coin,
Alone and lost
Down at my feet.

On picking up
This dullish metal
I looked for words,
Or face, or worth, 
But all it had
Were numbers graven,
Dates that traced
My death and birth,
My fondest days,
My happiest joys,
My times of laughter,
My nights of love.

What value a coin
Of unstamped worth
That captured all
My happiness on earth?

A poetry prompt (even if she didn’t mean it that way) from Mary Holden — thank you, Mary!