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Huddled in the alley weeping,
Swathed in scraps of blankets torn.
Pressed against a darkened threshold,
Hope rescinded, heart forlorn.
Jazzy wept, her heart forlorn.
Filth and grime swirled, fetid, pungent.
High-rise slums blocked sun and air.
Windows caked with disappointment.
Young eyes searched in cold despair.
Helplessness wrought cold despair.
Cracked hands pleading, stretching skyward,
Jazzy voiced a whispered moan.
“It’s the children that I cry for
Suffering and all alone.
Help the children, all alone.”
Lifting gaze in expectation,
Waiting for Divine reply,
Body stooped with disappointment,
Staring at the silent sky.
No response, a silent sky.
Sounds of traffic grew deriding,
Mocking, growling, taunting, scorn.
“My disciples! My disciples!”
Echoed in the sounding horns.
Demons in the sounding horns.
In the east the murk receded
Charcoal clouds sliced as a wound.
There a shaft of light entreated
That her faith might be exhumed.
Jazzy’s faith must be exhumed.
Crippled legs stood up in wonder
Watching for what God would do.
Excited prayer! Anticipation!
A whisper churned, “Not Me, but you.”
The Spirit said, “Not Me, but you.”
Jazzy dropped, her countenance failing,
Trembling hands in matted hair.
“What I have are rags and fetters.
Why would anybody care?
Not a single one will care.”
Traffic coiled in serpents’ rhythms.
Twisting lies of fate and doom.
“You have nothing! You have nothing!”
And she choked on thickening gloom.
Jazzy balked in thickening gloom.
Then the light, a flaming dagger,
Pierced the twilight and the mud
‘till it found two copper pennies
Lost, misplaced, commingled blood.
Coins reflect commingled blood.
Jazzy stumbled forward, falling
To her knees. Her faith redressed.
Now this greatest gift she offered,
Gave them all that she possessed.
Offered God what she possessed.
Holy born through acts of mercy
Somehow knew that He approved.
Mustard seed and growing deeper.
Thought she saw a mountain move.
Jazzy saw a mountain move!
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