Anniversary 8

On the morning of our wedding I arrayed myself in time,
strode off in goodwill to a place that I might undergo
a form of service. There I went, to hear our reasons chime,
and march under an arch of words made a long time ago.

And now clothed in Time’s freshness I stand outside the door
where you and I made up our will. It seems as I go in
I hear the same as once I did, when on a stony floor
I understood from all that ringing hour, one word. Begin.

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