Thursday, April 16, 2015


The undersized boy
In the great church thinks
He is there to slip a coin
Maybe two out of the box
Not knowing the church
And most of the congregation
Will not survive the war
So that the colored windows,
The marble pillars, the pretty girl
Flirting with the sacristan --
Along with the fat priest
Who said nothing when he saw
A small hand with a coin --
Exist now only because the boy
Grew up and one day
Gave them all to his daughters
In a story the youngest one
Writes down when she is old.

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