The Wedding Singer




The white canopy looked beautiful set against the blue of a June sky.
There wasn't a day more lovely, and she let out a sigh.



The singers were ready, and the orchestra had arrived.
There was going to be a wonderful wedding, none better could have been contrived.



A sliver brush lay on her vanity where she had put her hair up with the gift of pearl combs she had received from her bridesmaids.
They had looked forward to this day for what seemed like decades.



Out on the lawn, the guests were being seated in rows of white chairs.
Everyone was chatting away, and you could hear "...it's been too long", as they renewed past acquaintances and discussed current affairs.



At the reception, the tables were set with fine china, yellow roses as a compliment and a gold knife and fork aside white linen napkins with gold rings.
It was a wedding reception that would have befitted queens and kings.



The groom was dancing a waltz with his beautiful bride, and his steel gray hair made him look quite suave.
He had an accent and by birth was a Slav.



She was a demure picture with silver hair and a fine china doll complexion for a lady of a mature age.
The wedding singer began to sing as she approached the center of the stage.



At the end of "I Love You Truly", she began a sentence with the words, "I hope I'm not being presumptuous,..... but my brother, Kolek, and I were once wed in our youth.
You see, I am his adopted sister, and that is the truth.





By Phyllis Ann (Starbird55@comcast.net)


 




 


It's Been Too Long




Under the canopy of the bower we sat,
She and I and a picnic lunch.
Soft music playing as wine we had,
I was floating in the air.


Its been too long, she said with a smile,
As I remembered the first picnic like this.
Twas back in 55, on a beach at Waimea Bay,
We were young and innocent.


I brushed her hair, slowly and softly,
As we sat and grinned,
She and I, man and wife,
We did not have to sneak around.


The New Christie Minstrels, singers I liked,
Then began a lovely set.
I held her close as under the bower we danced,
Slowly and lovely as it used to be.


One knife and fork is all we had,
For that is the way we did it back then.
Share the plate and silverware too,
It went far to make us so close.


The steel gray clouds said it would rain,
As we laughed and our picnic ate.
Sharing our utensils and ourselves,
As again we were so close to each other.


I wondered if presumptuous of me it would have been,
As we snuggled under a tree,
While the rain did pour,
I wanted her so much more.


And when the rain did stop,
With cane and walker, we went back to the car.
Smiling and remembering this day,
Would we get more to come out and play?





By Tom (tomWYO@aol.com)


 




 


It's Been Too Long




"How very presumptuous of him!"
She pointed to the guy named Jim.
He stood there patting his steel gray hair.
Looking at all the ladies fair.
I put down my knife and fork,
I'd eaten most of the barbequed pork.
Singers popped up all over the place,
All of them singing "Amazing Grace."
She gave Jim the brush off, very cold.
Said; "I think you may be too old,
And then again, it's been too long."
She turned away and sang the song.
He'd asked her age you see,
So she left him standing under the canopy





By Swampetta (SWAMPETTA@aol.com)


 




 


It's Been Too Long




The dawn was steel and gray
The day Caleb came to his senses.
He could smell the kitchen's love,
Of Maxwell House and blintzes.


"It's been too long" he stretched.
Since this house was filled with laughter.
On his face split a crooked smile
For Caleb's own morning after.


That revival meeting neath the canopy,
All day singin' and dinner on the grounds
Went two noisy and whooping days
Day and night, plumb out of bounds.


"Wonder if I'd be presumptuous,
Now that it's done and over
To court Lucy Bell in broad daylight
Neath that floppin' canopy cover.


The singers are gone and home
But I suppose that'd be all right,
Lucy Bell's voice is like song to me,
With or without the white moonlight.


"Brush your teeth, youngun'" came a throated yell,
From that sweet-smellin' kitchen way.
It wasn't a yell from Lucy Bell,
"Git up! Time to start your day."


Caleb started and shook realizin'
Lucy Bell here was only a dream
"Get in here, Caleb, grab your knife and fork.
Monday waits for no man - good or mean.





By Norma (Twi1ite@sbcglobal.net)


 





 

 

 

 

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