Where have you gone, my love? You have walked into the hills to make your own way. Heading out to find your piece of urban life across the hills (the place where I am still, mourning you). I imagined you in church walking across the alter, sitting proud there, awaiting my praise, which you surely will get all your days if you come back to us. Your wide smiling face, and eyes so deep that I fell into them – they must see tomorrow. I should never have left you so low, I will never again abandon a soul so close to my own. Wanderer, return, I plead with you. Sniff out the trail, and come home.