Story of a Hole

On the hillside where the sun doesn't shine And a flower has not known to bloom,  Stands a solitary house covered with vine.  A young lady lived there once, her beauty divine.  Her skin was snow white and, hair like a summer moonshine Never have I known a lady more fine.  But this isn't the story of her, but the story of a hole A hole six feet deep and six feet wide, filled with Earth and twigs and twine.  In the hole is kept a box, a box full of nails and stones Everyday I visit that place when left alone, and look at the words etched with his bones. Mistakes sure were made that I wish I could atone,  But tell me if it is a sin to love him or, want him for more? Come on stranger, let me tell you some more...
About this hole in my heart that I have carried so long.