With withered face and folded hands, her knees worn hard from prayers,
She walked the streets of India amidst the death like stares.
Her sari draped bent body always searching for the poor,
No longer seeks the needy as Teresa stoops no more.
Born Agnes in Albania, becoming Indian by choice,
She broke through the hardened social caste to give untouchables a voice.
She left the comfort of the convent to live her calling on the street;
A mission source of charity to everyone she’d meet.
Calcutta was the new home where she came with thirteen nuns,
To start the journey of a life time where her future had begun.
Care for the homeless, sick and dying; comfort to victims of disease.
Her heart and hands worked side by side with loving expertise.
The softness in her voice, but determination of her will,
Reached far and wide around the world and reverberates there still.
For the poor to have a peaceful death; was core to her belief,
So those who lived like animals could die with angels in relief.
Her death was mourned by millions, no less those still on the street,
But her sisters live the mission in the homeless whom they meet.
Though her sari draped bent body always searched there for the poor,
She no longer seeks the needy as Teresa stoops no more
~ Donna Sue Berry ~
October 20th, 2011