It had been too many years
Since your little flowers beckoned to me
With tantalizing views of God’s love
Lived in the life of the littlest friar.
I could not hear you then
Your voice too pure for filthy ears
Your heart too humble for haughty reflection
And a love too strong for indecision.
Lady Poverty set you free to live in this world
Nursing lepers as they healed you
Reminding the birds of the love of our Creator
Piecing together the broken puzzle of the church.
Familiar wounds appeared five times
On hands that softened life’s blows on the sick
On feet that left bloody footprints on the path to Christ
And in the side of a body slim enough for the narrow gate.
Shall I listen, dear Francis, as you speak to my heart,
With haunting words demanding response,
“I have done what was mine to do;
May Christ teach you what you are to do.”
Kathy Brown, 2012