Greed

With reluctant, fumbling feet,
A heart of awkward guilt,
She let her mother's virtue
Take over her own;

She had knelt by that wishing well,
And quietly dropped a dime-
her hands hesitant
With the weakness of faith

She watched it hit a brick,
then abscond into a sightless silence
It's armour no more shining
Or serving any light;

She knew then,
That she would get not another-
to replace the wasteful greed,
And the death of a value

Then, a faint echo of it's funeral,
Struck; like an overknowing laugh-
It's discorded abruptness- despair-
Of being worth a whole dime...

and yet not snuggled in the warmth of a woolen pocket
And yet, to be doomed to the darkened, torpid, stillness of this shrine...