Jeannette Marks

I DO not ever remember having seen Rosy Miller—

I never met her,

Yet lose her I never can.

It was the speech of a friend that made her live for me—

Rosy Miller, who gave and gave;

Who, a child still, had learned the whole meaning of life,

Who asked nothing,

Who never held a hand out mendicant to others.

One night at dusk she came down a hill with me—

That was three years ago, that hour at dusk,

And now they say she is dead.

But that is a mistake:

Even for me who never knew her she still lives.