DARK ROSALEEN I thirst beside the heather-laden bogs - no samaritan for me; no one here to see that I shall die amidst the plenty, in the field - and that its yield will sail to shores beyond the sea. How can it be that flocks of sheep can find their fill while I lie empty and in pain? or is it vain to beg attention to my plight? How can I fight when I am listless, drained alone, shrunken to the bone while others eat what I have grown in toil? Woman of the soil - I fade against a wall of human greed and - sower of the seed - I languish as it grows ... Sr. Anne Therese Dillen