The Wedding 1992
Daughter of the earth, she chose springtime,
formed her gown from dogwood ivory blooms,
& fashioned pearls of honeysuckle dew,
bound her loamshade tresses with breath of babes unborn.
Then to the glade came those who loved her more
than ever I’d imagined.
To the movement of her voice they came,
while I, their puissant host, remained
by choice a shadow in her glow,
drinking with the wedding guests a toast
to what she is, what I can never be -
so perfect, melding with the tribal ways,
& I, of root and green, a mutable condition.
-Marge Simon
Forums:
Reviews
No reviews yet.