The sun slides from the sleek red western sky
and the dew-damp evening air
dissolves the coloured confetti,
strewn like some abandoned paper chase
upon the ground.
The sound of the wedding
party flows from the function rooms,
where harmony grits its teeth against all odds.
Where will they be after those heaven sent
seven years?
The tears of happiness today
may turn in time and turning back is always all too late.
The froth, the tulle and tux must just be packed
away. This wedding day seems captive but need not be
kept in a cage.
It should be free to age like fine wine:
a marriage robust, fragrant, full-bodied and forever fruity.
To be sipped and savoured frequently
in memory of the love of that first
and finest taste.