Epithalamion

We mark the days that tell us who we are,
staccato days that give our lives their form,
this wedding day, when happy hearts and warm
are joined beneath July’s auspicious star.

Count them, the golden days of greatest joy
holding the hope of children yet unborn
and, knowing there will be days enough to mourn
the loss life brings, now celebrate the boy

become a man and come at last this hour:
the lovely bride before the bridal bower,
their family and friends, all smiles, embrace
love writ so large that time cannot efface
this silver night’s unbridled happiness.
There will be but a few as bright as this.