She moves silently through the cold swirling fog
A nun dressed in black like her burial shroud
The dark night world dressed in grounded cloud
She floats above the earth over each rock and log
Off in the distance the mournful howl of a dog
Carefully moving as the graves have allowed
Memorials of granite now crumbling yet proud
With a single rose in her hand she travels the bog.

Her memories fly back on the wings of a dove
To that long ago summer of youth and love
He left her to sit at the Lord’s right hand
And her life became pain built on shifting sand
So now she wears her habit of black
And knows her lover can never come back