She wore yellow shoes on her wedding day,
They reminded her of the sun,
She wore a blackened garter,
To remind her of what he'd done,
She wore a deep green eye pencil,
To remind her of meadows true,
Red upon her cheeks so pale,
Enlightened her eyes cold blue,
She wore a clinging silken gown,
Caressing her curvy form,
The brightest white, as white as snow,
That glistened in the dawn,
Around her neck a silver chain,
As silver as her hair,
She sat alone, elegantly,
In her old dusty armchair,
Fifty years had passed away,
Like the flight of an albatross,
Her shoulders weighted heavily,
As she carried her burdened cross,
For on that day, her wedding day,
She waited and waited more,
He never showed, and left her there,
He'd left her alone once more,
She stared into the looking glass,
As her life had passed her by,
But every May, she wore the dress,
And a tear fell from her eye,
She wore yellow shoes on her wedding day,
They reminded her of the sun,
And now the blackened garter,
Lay on the floor undone.