Sister Poem by John Schulte

She always wore little crosses
That hung like crimson blossoms from her dress
Arms outstretched, opened like a bloom
But doomed to die a death through torture
To nurture the future by bleeding into the parched earth
Souls sow like seeds and grow fertile from faith
She knew misery's marvels through birth
Vinegar stained the tapestry
But grace feeds her blessings
And she rose
Leaving behind a cascade of scarlet petals