Epithalamium by Liz Lochead

For marriage, love and love alone’s the argument.
Sweet ceremony, then hand in hand we go
Taking to our changed, still dangerous days, our complement.
We think we know ourselves, but all we know
Is: love surprises us. It’s like when sunlight flings
A sudden shaft that lights up glamorous the rain
Across a Glasgow street – or when Botanic Spring’s
First crisp, dry breath turns February air champagne.
Delight’s infectious – your friends
Put on, with glad rag finery today, your joy,
Renew in themselves the right true ends
They won’t let old griefs, old lives, destroy.
When at our lover’s feet our opened selves we’ve laid
We find ourselves, and all the world, remade.