This is the day I shall be wed;
As I wait my thoughts are dead.
They lie stretched on the rack of love,
Embalmed like so many dirt-filled gloves.
And each stiff finger remembers
Nothing of the cold black embers
It once caressed with so much care,
As if each branch would lead somewhere.
But now the fingers of every thought
Cannot remember what they sought.

This is the day I shall be wed;
From my heart all fears have fled.
My heart alone is alive today,
A living, beating lump of clay;
Sustaining life with every pulse,
Incapable of feeling false.
Doubt cast out from the heart of life,
The tell-tale heart that found my wife.
I love her though my thoughts are still,
And when I say "I do," and will.