***** Wedding Winds Blow
Wedding bells barely heard were ringing
while March winds were grandly swinging
cloudy threats across the lowland plains.
Could they get to the church before the rain?
Wedding guests in pairs were mightily struggling,
headed to the church doors while snuggling
against March winds’ threatening flows.
Would they remain upright, or fall down low?
In they blew ahead of the brewing
of the winds of March’s stewing,
and all in one crowded position.
Were they neat enough for admission?
With much ado they unsteadily went, shaking
away the March winds’ loud awakening,
noisily seeking their assigned pews.
Would they cease their fretting, catlike mews?
Then many families, fretfully people-arranging
after March winds’ sulky misbehaving,
were fraught with sitting in single rows.
Would they all need identifying bows?
In the basement’s little chamber below, glowing
parties of the wedding soon began showing
stress from March winds bent on giving them tests.
Would the crowd above stop being argumentative pests?
Out of the raining storm, came the bride careening,
certainly wishing and wanting to stop her leaning,
and finally beating off the March winds’ tearing.
Would the bride and groom ever reach their pairing?
Late-appearing and smeared, the bride’s arriving
in the March winds’ pounding and stiff driving,
raining affair, caused a horrible, silly fuss.
Would the groom’s stress add to his bride’s muss?
Rows and pews decided, those needing straying
from seats for bathroom breaks were praying
for less of the March winds’ blustery bellow.
Could each person rest and become mellow?
Front-side organs spewed the bride’s walking
song, bringing the crowd’s end to talking.
Outside March winds still shouted and raged.
Could the weather for awhile be caged?
This union in noise and storm blazing
was apparently doomed to more razing
and damage from March winds yet untamed.
Who among them could establish blame?
Nothing could stop the cold relentless raving
of March winds’ increased, crazy waving.
The crowd cowered under great booming thunder.
Would lightning, too, tear them all asunder?
Church windows rattled in terrifying fashion, shaking
and drawing admirable ooohs, aaaahs, and quaking
from those fervently awed by March winds as their foe.
Would the bride, after all, answer a beleaguered “no”?
Minister Lane rose his arms wide, flailingly
called on High for His reason, but failing
to receive an adequate Godly reply,
shouted, “Must we pick a day to reapply?”
A windless sensation filled the quieted room;
then came a Voice from on High; it boomed,
“If you all trusted me fully, you’d not hide,
but take this ceremony to hold outside!”
Photo and Poem from the personal and copyrighted collection of Barbara Anne Helberg