He picks up the pennies,
everywhere he goes.
Pieces of bigger things:
the fragments of the whole.
There never was a miracle
too small to behold,
and so he kept every one,
and every one made him bowed.
The others all around him,
seemed happy in their role,
but he knew only backache,
toil, and toll.
He carried his burden,
as vast as he, old.
Too large to conceal,
he never let it go.
He slept on coin pillows
the color of mold
and defended his treasure
with a vigor so bold
that ten men together
should endeavor to hold.

One day while counting,
the man, in his home,
heard a noise from the ceiling
that sounded of groan.
He dashed for his pennies,
as groan grew to moan
and was crushed under rains
of money he owed.