Palest pink dresses with petticoats showing,
colour bathed out, yet still lustrous and glowing.
Black hair or red hair. blonde or brunette,
curly or wavy, no matter how set,
fading too early, silvered with light
while singing and laughter are warming the night.
Bridesmaid bouquets bringing perfume of roses
to a scene of such wonder as nightime discloses.
On finding a stage bathed in such moonlight
going on home just doesn’t feel right.
Happy to linger, the dancing not over
till the moon goes to bed wearing cloud for a cover.
Tartan kilts swinging in time to the beat,
the rhythm of centuries tapped out by the feet.
Into the light, looking ghostly and graceful,
swung by a partner with energy youthful,
bare arms lifted in gesture majestic
in the light of the moon falling softly fantastic.
All are amazed and are caught in the wonder.
Bedazzled they are by the moon in its splendour.
And now they are dancing;
eightsome reels they are prancing.
Lighting their way, when home they were heading;
caught in the moonlight. What an end to a wedding!
This poem was written after my second-oldest son got married. After he and his lovely bride drove off to their honeymoon and the reception wound down to its unwelcome end, we said our goodbyes to the guests and gathered our bits and bobs, bags and baubles. There were very few cars left in the car park, belonging to the new in-laws, the groomsmen, the bridesmaids and us. The bridesmaids and groomsmen were still dancing as they came out to the beauty of a cool, moonlit night, so they formed a ‘set’ and danced a reel. It was simply enchanting…and we had no film left in our cameras, so I’ve tried to capture it here.