poem for 24th Sunday after Pentecost Mark 12: 38-44

each copper coin

rang

as it fell

striking the many other coins

piled

in indistinguishable heaps

in the treasury

these two coins

the least of all the coins there

danced their way down the sides of the many

made great

not by the numbers stamped in them

or from whom they came

but why

and this untold why of faith

amid the gathering of human greatness

sang up to heaven

with the simple pure joy

of a nightingale