The Wedding

The Wedding

At morn, aglow with rosy blush-ablaze,
appears the dainty bride; a powdered fey.
She sprinkles fairy dewdrop storms; a maze
that soars o’er dancing flowers blissful play.

Her sparkling gown sends light to kiss the face
of groom who grows beneath the shadows low.
He’ll bloom a brilliant hue; a purple grace;
as lifted is the veil where he will glow.

The moon has slipped away beyond the night
as early gleams entrance the wedding guests;
they turn their heads to greet the waltzing light
that warms the periwinkle’s silken vest.

Triumphant march of morn has wedded day;
A golden coronet adorns her way.

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Rantings Of A Third Kind

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