I watched for her among the trees,
while bagpipes warmed the autumn air.
The morning sun, the gentle breeze,
the fragrant earth, the dancing bees
composed a gentle wedding prayer.
Aware, it seemed, of what it meant
to come this near the season’s edge,
the day arose in light and scent
to bless with glory this event
and mark our sacred loving pledge.
To reach this day we both had crossed
a cold and barren time and space,
a darkened wasteland trapped in frost,
where often we were frightened, lost,
but compelled by power of mystic grace.
Her dress appeared, a radiant white,
between the lavish limbs of pine.
Her pace so sure, so strong and spright,
announced that all the world was right:
At last I’m hers and she is mine.