‘The widow’s mite’
(A reflection on Mark 11.41-44)
Come quickly friends and gather ‘round,
And witness with me something quite profound.
In the hustle and bustle acts of pure love are found,
A miracle emerges without ever a sound.
‘Look over there to the tax-takers box,
The one where the proud and the rich gather flocks
To witness their deeds, though their hearts are like blocks,
The hint of attention, makes them sly as the fox.
With a flick and a flourish they unburden their purse,
Of a few of so many, and to make it much worse,
They put on their masks of false piety’s curse.
Forgetting my friends, that the last shall be first.
Watch with me carefully, and don’t miss a thing,
The most noble of songbirds is ready to sing.
See she, though invisible, do the deed of a king
She gives from her heart, she gives everything.
Millennia later, still her story is told,
Forgotten while living, yet her memorial is bold.
And those who pushed past her, still clinging to gold,
Have descendants aplenty, sadly shaped in their mold.