Widow's mites

Two was everything

But that’s what she gave.

When the bare table and the empty chair across the room

Still murmured of loss and of need

Two small coins held loosely were her gratitude.

While the proud postured nearby

Clanking coins and counting balances

Eyes narrowed to the focus of the number

She opened her eyes wide to joy

And gave lavishly a gift not measured by worth.

While those who must account in lined up columns,

Saw less about the story of the blessing

She saw more than the balance that was left,

And poured out all in thanks.