The bride
Hewn from the strata of galaxies demure!
Inured with witchcraft; heartbreakingly, pure.
The bride wears her wedding-dress like haute-couture
Dressed in her heavenly gown made by Channel or Dior!
Poised like a vision, sumptuously, dressed and veiled.
She; supernatural swan like sailed…
Stunningly, intoxicating; like a little creature divine!
She takes up her grooms arm whispers thou, shall be mine.
poem by Mark Heathcote
Added by Poetry Lover
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