She died but it was not a lonely death I sat by her while blessed angels prayed And I could hear the slowing of her breath And the sweetness of her voice within me stayed.
She came to me a vision from the stars And tended me when I fell gravely ill Nothing in my distant memory mars The beauty and the strength of her vast will.
To live for love and live to make her life An offering to One whom she had seen In India, the Mother, though the strife Of poverty, detritus and the mean
Existence of the poor, the hapless mass For whom a grain of rice was wealth enough When it through drainage pipes would slowly pass, Indigents, untouchables whose rough
Passage through life was like a blade Driven into the heart of one so young, And yet throughout her life her soul obeyed. She moved to Auroville where enmity stung
Her soul and once again returning home, Devoted worker, child of beauty and love Her life's devotion one could swiftly sum, A heavenly being descended from above.
Poems Undated (1727)
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