The Wedding

 The Wedding


The wedding garlands on each pew 

That lead up to the altar

Of the Church of the Assumption

In Our Lady’s Island, Wexford. 


No tell tale sign, no signal

If the wedding’s in the past 

Or waiting for the nervous couple

This September afternoon. 


Sitting on the forward bench

In front of Mary’s statue

All is quiet but for the song

Of a noisy thrush in bushes. 


Birdsong and the buffeting 

Of winds that travel miles

Across south Wexford plains

Born in the Atlantic. 


A silence broken on occasion

By a tractor on its way

To the golden fields in Carne

It’s a day for making hay. 


Old men chatter outside the pub

Still closed on a weekend morning

Swapping tales of lobster fishing

As the catching season’s ending. 


Beneath her statue a single light

A candle bought by a morning pilgrim

All is peaceful and serene

Stain glass depicts a saintly being. 


I look back on my childhood 

Grateful for the faith and piety

That enriched the youthful soul 

All is grace at seventy. 



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