The Royal Wedding Poem by Sheena Blackhall

On an April day,fifteen-year-old MaryQueen of Scots
Marries her childhood playmate, Francis, aged fourteen

It's Paris. It's Notre Dame Cathedral
Bells peal out, the trees are bright with blossom

The groom is the son ofHenri II of France
His mother, Catherine de' Medici, stands aloof

The boy is timid, sickly, undersized
He stammers, but is exquisitely dressed

His bride is tall, her auburn hair hangs shining
Her hazel eyes are bright as Beltane dew

She is vivacious, confident and witty
All of Paris is here to celebrate

The road's been swept. There's flowers and fluttering banners
The fleur de lys of France, and marigolds.

In the city, theatres show plays
Food and drink's on sale, for thronging crowds

The square in front of Notre Dame is packed.
Leading the procession, the Swiss Guards

Musicians fill the air, it's sweet with song
Princes, bishops, cardinals walk stately

Crucifixes, holy relics pass
And then, the bridal party raises cries

Mary is ‘dressed in clothing as white as lilies',
Two maids carry her train of blue-grey velvet

Round her neck is a necklace flashing with gems
On her head, a gold crown set with pearls,

In Notre Dame, a podium was draped with silk
Embroidered with glorious fleur de lys

Before Archbishop of Rouen she made her vows
Cheers rose when the ring was placed upon her finger

Her uncle, the Duc de Guise mounted the stage
Tossed gold and silver coins, into the crowd,

And then, the wedding mass.
Light from the great windows, spilling colour

Forfifteen days France celebrated,
Banquets, masks, parades-a tournament
Paris, city of love, opened its heart to Mary like a rose