You getting married.

I read a poem in class called 'You being born' by Brian Jones, and we were set the task of writing one similar but in a different context. Here is the original poem:

I saw you born.

It was remarkable.

You shot out from between your mother’s legs

like a rugby ball from a scrum

and the stocky Geordie midwife caught you neatly

and cried ‘Whoops! She’s come!’

You had a wrinkled jammy head

and spasmy legs like a portly frog’s.

From your belly button a white root waved

that had fed you all the months you’d grown

and ripened in your mother’s womb.

And let me tell you – I’m ashamed –

I forgot your mother completely – she had been

those things to me that one day you’ll discover

in someone else, and think ‘God, this is it!’

– My sweetheart, my warm dear, my red hot lover –

But for those moments, as the doctor

shoved cotton wool up your flat nose

and swabbed your eyes and cleaned your bum

I forgot completely all my life and love

and watched you like a pool of growing light

and whispered to myself ‘She’s come! She’s come!’

And this is the poem I wrote:

I saw you married.

It was beautiful.

You glided down the aisle

like a swan on a lake

and the people were turning

and crying, ‘Look, she’s come!’

You had an angel’s face

and a smile that stunned the millions.

From your hands, a bouquet waved

waving, smiling at me

the least important in this ritual.

And let me tell you – I’m so proud

to see you there on that day,

taking the vows whilst your mother was bawling

next to me, my beautiful wife, the same

as you were about to become to someone else.

But for those moments, as you glanced at my face,

asking with your eyes if it was all ok, I forgot

all my life and love and watched you,

smiling, a small glint of happiness in this sad world,

and whispered to myself ‘Look, she’s come!’

Not the best thing I've ever written, and poetry doesn't like me very much, but... there you have it.