Serving to a Fault,
Defaulting to Service.
A life spent striving to be spent
Poured out as an offering.
A farm girl caught in a city life,
Primal simplicity wasted not
On the severed souls she helped.
O, that we too could find simpleness.
That we have,
In the picture of love among us,
Like the servant farmer before her,
The daughter’s incense rises above.