Her eyes are wide and tight and soft
On six hours’ sleep; it was enough
When life did call, and call it did;
From neighbours’ lives, her own unhid.

Though tired, her eyes speak of God’s love:
Compassion, peace, hope from above.
She could be mad, more than irate,
But then God’s love would have to wait

To break her down and build her up.
Alone, we’ll never be enough.
She knows it well, so did each saint.
No other picture e’er did paint

The truth of God’s love quite like they,
Broken and beat; God had his way
And forged them in the fire of love.
Clay to the Potter: “That’s enough!”

Except it’s not and ne’er will be,
Until God fills all holes in me
And you and each neighbour.

His eyes and smile welcome his friends
On four hours’ sleep, this saint did spend
His day in talk and labour.

But still his Master, Brother, best
Of all; blood falls upon his breast.
No sleep – God’s love – sweet Saviour.