(In Memoriam to Virginia Cummins)
I saw the trenchant beauty of her soul
When first she bade me enter her retreat,
Gave of her manna that I might be whole.
Compassion's sandals were upon her feet,
About her form, the robe of love; her scarf
Of shining moon-glow faith--Now she has rowed
Across the Singing River; at the wharf
Of sunrise, views the fields of earth she sowed
With lilies, burgeoning, bursting into bloom.
She steps from her bright craft of song to weave
A pattern for the angels on the loom
Of Heaven as she sings. So do not grieve
But hear her lyrics, for she is not dead!
She lives! The laurel crown upon her head.
