Once fearful I buried my small coin
and quenched the song within my heart,
but songs unsung are a bitter weight,
and gifts change to dust when left apart.
Once too bold I shouted my own tune,
for coins will spend for good or ill,
until I saw how tarnished they grew --
those few worthless coins outside His will.
Fearful still, I've opened wide this purse
for the coins you give us must be spent.
I cast them upon the wind and pray
you will bless with grace my poor intent.
Thank you, this is a beautiful poem and one I could well relate to.
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