The glowing bride floats down the aisle
a vision in white with an ethereal smile.
The sour faced women housed in their pews
politely pretend this is nothing new.
They nod while attached to their husbands arms
denying their unions produced any harm.
Their looks tell it all with no need for words:
here's husband number four, haven't you heard?
Yet, she looks right through them, continous to beam
she's bound and determine to capture her dream.
The others may sniff to show her their scorn
but now a new generation is born.
For these women in white, there are no endless nights.
They'll marry again until they get it right...
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Comments about this poem (The Phoenix by melissa mundy )
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