Tomorrow you will arrive in the
lane by car, step down
To wrestle with hats and dresses and pictures by the door,
But I will see you as though you were older—part of a chain
Of couples blinking out the sunlight on the cool porch floor.
I will see the families among the stones in old-style
clothes
And in the lane a cart will wait to take you on
With children from the parish there to wave; only the words I suppose,
The swapping of the rings and the church won’t have gone.
And finally, I will see you walk up the lane before you
go
To cut a flower from the hedgerow—some quiet bloom
That no collector would remark upon, no gardener grow
Place it inside a book and keep it always for your room.
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