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?
