A fistful of pennies . . .
laid in my palm;
warm, moist pennies,
pennies
smelling of metal,
and ,shyly, passed
into my palm
from the tiny
warm, moist fist
of the little girl
in the pink flowered dress
sitting next to me.
What will God do
with her fistful of pennies?
-Joy S. Barefoot
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