Monday 12 June 2017
Girls in pearls are, oh, so sure
They gather berries, heather.
Lay soft blankets on the moor -
My darling cannot share.
Stick glossy feathers in their hair
And climb the ragged rocks,
Find the bird's nests, oh, so rare,
Ignore 'her' like a pock.
Oh My Darling, Daughter of Mine,
I'll find you tendrils of vetch -
Skeins so fine, to sew your eyes,
So you'll no longer fret.
Clasp this stem of curling fern -
Lie along its measure,
'Til it uncoils and straightens you,
Gives you strength to treasure.
Take the sap of the bluebell flower
To still your wilder blood.
Listen for all its bells to ring,
When you walk from the mud.
Choose your dock leaves carefully,
And walk the land so fair.
Tell those girls on your wedding day:
'To my trousseau do not give.
I've won my wedding squares!'
© Wendy Vacani
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