Spain 1988
We joined the wedding processionthrough the market square,
dow the wide streets,
onto cobbled road
overhung with blazing vines.
Just that morning we had arrived
traversing along with the early flowers
little thought of dancing
in this, a prancing love parade
holding hands in a mirrored facade.
I felt sorry for her tight white laced bodice,
hair, pulled and piled, styled beneath a veil,
kitten heels, pulled along
jostled by the celebrating throng.
As so we danced at her wedding,
guests welcomed with a smile
while high up on the hills
a procession of mourners
helped to lay the loved bones to bed.
All or nothing, as a village chimes
like blooms that open in the sunlight
we alighted, adorning hearts,
festooning hair with blooms
as so soon, the images can change.
I held each hand, as circling we danced
each petal of the flowers
became a montage,
blooms for the living,
arrangements for the long loved ones lost.
Poetry by Elle
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Written on 2015-08-11 at 19:19
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