~ by William Wordsworth ~
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
--Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!
My friend Marilyn as a Gypsy
Letter from Marilyn to Me
Right now it’s Halloween night, and I'm in my room writing letters. Remember last year, and the year before? We had good times. I kind of miss seeing all the little kids dressed up, too. We did have a visit from three girls from one of the sororities in costumes with a bucket of candy. But it wasn’t too exciting.
Sunday I went for a long walk. I was depressed and needed to think. Walking always helps me. I walked in a different direction than usual and came to the City Park. I wish you could have been here. It’s hard to explain the feelings going through my heart and the thoughts going through my mind. The park is what you might call beautiful.
There is a covered picnic gazebo, in the middle of which is a four-sided fireplace, all made of stone. There is a pond, a playground, a swimming pool (closed for winter), and a sunken stone structure like a monument. I went down the steps and walked all around but saw no writing until I spied the plaque that had come off or been torn off. It said: “This playground was donated to the children of the city.” I cried because it wasn’t where it should be and because there was trash in the park and because people have to ruin things that are beautiful, and because no one was there, laughing and pushing their little kids on the swings.
I thought, oh, Kit, you and I should be raising our kids in this town, caring about places like this and making other people care. Will that ever happen? Then I picked up a lot of trash and beer cans and Dairy Queen cups and threw them away and felt better and walked on.
While I was walking, I met a girl with long, blond hair feeding apples to a horse. I stopped to pet her dog, and she told me her name was Lucy. Isn’t that cool? I never met anyone named Lucy before. I wonder if she knows a famous poet wrote about a girl with her name? “Bright as a star when only one is shining in the sky . . . .” I bet her mother does.
7 March 1957 ~ 27 November 1993