To the little flower


Saint Thérèse of Lisieux:  A Sonnet

Not as a prima donna in a pose

Before the swaying curtain when the play

Is clamorously ended, her bouquet

Loosed on the throng,—not even as a rose

Can I conceive of you.  Let others, those

Whose lyric season is incessant May,

Cull similes to strew your “little way”

With hothouse verse and honeysuckle prose.


You are too real, too actual, Thérèse,

To live in metaphor.  The girl behind

The legend, could the legend fade, would be

The girl you were, sobbing upon your knees

In lowliness and love and anguish, blind

With the beauty of a stark Gethsemane.


A Sonnet by Alfred Barrett, SJ


About TheAspiringCatholic

Welcome and thank you for visiting this page! You’ll find my personal reflections on Christian Discipleship, insights on my adventures throughout the world, one day at a time, and musing everything Catholic and musical with a cup of coffee each morning.
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