She would go walking through a haunting of sentiments, saddened by the renewing memories of a man who'd famished her only true hopes of a world of love. He'd died in the arms of a soldier.
She would go walking through an early morning cemetary where a robin redbreast opened a chapter of song, in which blended into the designs of her emotion. She thought back to a childhood story.
"Mr. Robby Red Breast often awakened the setting with his glorious, bliss-filled bursts of boldly composed uplifting chirpings for all of the other weery-eyed robins..."
She would go walking in range of the children and angels, and gunfire from afar, adding more view to the path of her hindsight, confronting the hilltop to view now, (through wonder), a trace of love's ghost, to lurk evermore in the valley of silence and prayer.