Therese of the little child Jesus,
You think you are so clever
by taking an elevator
instead of the staircase
to Heaven.
You approach the Lord
with only smallness.
Plucked up as just a seed,
trusting the Gardener’s hand.
We appear more clever still,
by trusting in nothing at all,
except evidence, that we measure and see,
achieving even greater technology:
How can a simple elevator compare
to a tin can in space
sent into the stars
to plant moon trees?
The truth is we only try,
there are no guarantees.
We plant and we hope,
for every tree there are a thousand seeds.
Even we must believe in possibilities.
We labor and toil
in unforgiving soil,
we persevere
and harvest a single bud of truth.
But your harvest,
Little Flower,
is an endless shower
of beautiful roses in bloom.