The Widow’s Might
She sat in the pew
Her head bowed down
The basket coming
She made no sound.
Oh how she wished
To give so much
But alas she had
No Midas touch.
The basket came
She shook with fear
And into the basket
She dropped a tear.
Now tears can’t touch
Like Midas bold
But dripped from the heart
They’re liquid gold.
Hilary McRee Flanery
