The doves

A gathering in the cold March air,
My lips were numb and my shoulders bare;
The freesias cried on my wedding day
But all the doves sang “Laudamus Te.”

The bride was young, the groom was younger,
And one was strong, the other stronger.
He was not there to give me away
So all the doves sang “Laudamus Te.”

We danced a Ceilidh and drank champagne
And with the black ink we signed our names;
I heard the call of a bird of prey
Yet all the doves sang “Laudamus Te.”

I made a home with a wish and a whistle,
Tended roses and pulled up thistles;
When I knew love wasn’t here to stay
I heard my doves sing “Laudamus Te.”

Of songs of women and songs of wives,
Of what will grow and what will not thrive
I’m clueless still, but my doves, they say,
“Sing Laudamus Te, Laudamus Te.”