The veil is lifted

a shy bride waits

a hint of a blush

a prelude to the day 

The guests are waiting 

the groom strides in

a processional overture

let the ceremonies begin. 

A whispered prayer

an union of eternal souls

whispers of ‘forever’

the recessional explodes. 

The guests scatter in the wind

soothed for the day

the postlude is a sad tune

carried into our days

Does the sun woo the sky?

Is the sunrise an aberration or magic?

Or just plain daily routine

that we forget to see?