My travels have taken me far, my black collar always on, drawn tight, the symbol of my faith

but when I was young, my heart was love sick for a young woman, who denied me constantly without remorse.

Love had before washed over me and filled me to the top of my very being, but after her I would never be the same.

I pleaded with her, give me at least a rational explination, but absolutely not

I love her so, before now, what I became before what I am today, a 27 year old priest with the solitude

of priesthood, but sworn not to anyone nor anything, a wandering celibate sham, forsaken but still

bound to my collar. I had written a letter then, to try and find her after so long, so I sent it away/

Many long and hard years had passed, and no word sent back to me, so I set out to find her,

I, the now elderly priest, found her finally, met her in a field of wild flowers, grain and grass

under an old oak tree, my resolve would at last end, the chilled autumn wind rattled the colorful

leaves above and sent them dancing through the air down bellow. Tears welled up in my eyes,

as the flowers around her danced with the wind as well. I knelt down, my hands trembling

I reached out...

And touched the cold stone with her picture and name etched into it. No husband nor children names

only hers, and sadly so, besider her name forever seen, my name with God and her's between