Change

She never asked for the change

Coins in my hands

Collecting

In a jar made of glass

Clear to see

I was expecting

To be the richest out of change

But I didn’t see the change that was coming

As the first bomb fell

They ran for shelter

I was running

To the jar of change

I’ve been collecting

Published by

strangerpaths

Poet, making sense of war, humanity, love and greed. Trying to find the magic in ordinary things. I am Zee

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