After The Wedding

The dog, having worn herself out,

In catching toys, thrown by bored boys,

Lies by the front door, 

Exhausted and stiff, as never before,

Half dozing and twitching, detached from reality,

Patiently awaiting the return of normality. 

The Chairs For The Wedding

The chairs for the wedding, vary, greatly,

Some stand tall, “serene and stately”,

Ready for some, more grand, occasion,

Firm of joint, and sound of rail, 

Their polish sparkling, like their conversation,

Too loud, beside their country cousins,

Slightly wormed, and rather frail,

Trying to mingle, look the part,

Beside the well used, everyday dozens,

Clean and neat and sound of seat,

Straight forward, useful, stout of heart. 

Some are split about the splat,

With no desire to stand and chat

And others, lumpy round the springs,

Make conversation based on things,

Competing to impress their fellows,

Regency, in golds and yellows,

Rosewood dense and strong, unyielding

Imagining the power they’re wielding

Arises from some greater merit

Than their ash made peers inherit

Forgetting ash made Piers’s plough

And fired the arrows from Robin’s bow.