Thérèse of Lisieux
Born in an age of books without end
Teachers teaching the taught
The perfected lesson
The corrected doctrine
But no one to love the world entire

Unable to bear the burden
And fully aware of the limits
Of her own imperfect love
Small, weak, and broken
She found her greatest strength
In her failure

No longer striving for greatness
Of knowledge or deed
She forged The Little Way
By scattering flowers
Of small sacrifice
Of fleeting glance
Of gentle word
The smallest
Actions of
Love

And

Light
Falling on
The monastery
That bears her name
Across the bay
A Little Ways away
A simple reminder
That this canvas
On which I lay down petals
Of Red Yellow Blue and White
Is but itself
Insignificant
And merely another
Flower scattered
For Love