I offer you a poem by Norman MacCaig. Only the gender has been changed for the maist couthie girl who's gone.
She went through a company like a lamplighter –
see the dull minds, one after another,
begin to glow, to shed
a beneficent light.
She went through a company like
a knifegrinder – see the dull minds
scattering sparks of themselves,
becoming razory, becoming useful.
She went through a company
as herself. But now she’s one
of the multitudinous company of the dead
where are no individuals.
The beneficent lights dim
but don’t vanish. The razory edges
dull, but still cut. She’s gone: but you can see
her tracks still, in the snow of the world.
