In a valley far away,

from prying eyes and children's play,

a man stepped quickly and purposely towards the glade.

Covered by willowy branches hanging low,

shielding the sight from unwanted visitors with their heavy bows,

encircled by the beauty of nature, night and day, stood the glade.

Parting the sweeping boughs and entering the sacred grove,

bathed in a gentle light from the setting sun with the blushing sky and a passing dove,

he looked on at the intricate stone, with its grave words, set within the glade.

Before the stone, down on one knee, he hung his head and spoke,

words of love and affection, tales of beauty and joy, prayers of peace and hope,

the night set in, the moonlight streamed through,

finally the man moved away through the tall grass covered in dew.

Left behind, in her bed of stone, the wife of the man who had been left alone.

Death had parted them and death would keep, their souls apart forever to weep.