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She glances in the mirror
In the midst of the day,
Tossing her hair
In a rapturous way;
Her lips radiate a smile
For all to see
Because this Sunday,
She will marry me.

Her exquisite dress,
Chosen with such care,
Is made of pearls and lace,
With a starlight flair;
When she tried on the veil,
Her mother cried,
And even her best friend
Could no tears hide.

She gushes to her friends
Of her special day,
Of honeymoon plans,
And her spring floral bouquet;
She checks off a list
Of arrangements and guests,
Like a final exam,
Will she pass the test?

As she goes to sleep,
She begins to dream;
Life flows on
In an endless stream;
Amidst sweet, fragrant garlands,
She asks, "Will you walk with me?"
She is the girl
Who will marry me.