The Bride


The mirror gleamed darkly, then cleared into brightness
And there I stood, tall and elegant,
My bust so round, my waist so slim,
Clad in virginal white.
My golden hair softly curling round my face
Held in place by a bridal wreath.
The veil, so fine and almost transparent
Floated down my back, moving gently in the breeze.
My bouquet of thornless roses was clasped
By my ringless fingers and my face glowed
With happiness.
My bridesmaid picked up my train
And my father took my hand to lead me to the church.
Hark! the bells are ringing, we musn’t be late.
And then I awoke to the alarm clock’s noisy clamour!
I arose, looked in the mirror and saw ME,
Bleary-eyed, fat and frumpy.
Ah well!  ‘Twas but a dream.


Bride