He walked alone on a worn dirt road,
He thought again of his love, his betrothed,
Her face was pale, with pinkish tones,
Her hair fell long over small, frail bones,
Then a year ago, this day,
He rehearsed his proposal, all he hoped to say,
He had wished no more, but for this one thing,
If, in life, she would wear his ring,
He planned it all, a night of romance,
And then without music, he asked her to dance,
He had stopped and had looked at her face and somehow,
He knew he must ask her, ask her right now,
He took out a box, and held her thin hand,
Then on her finger was a small golden band.
She had said yes that night last year,
But now on his cheek, there perched one more tear,
He placed the flowers there at his feet, never making a single sound,
For ever and more, her gentle touch his memory would save,
For the ring was taken with his love and hers and buried last spring, in her grave.