The subject of this one is largely self-explanatory. A somewhat unorthodox sonnet addressed to a future bride, it celebrates the inherent joy of the occasion while pointing out a darker undercurrent of human failing.
It will not be the end of things by far;
It will not be your first or last beginning.
It will not be a loss, as some such are,
But still you can't be sure that you'll be winning.
It will not be your first impassioned kiss,
Nor will he be your first impassioned boy;
It will not be your first foretaste of bliss,
Nor will it be the last you taste of joy.
And sometimes, yes, you worry—with good cause,
For deathless is the false fidelity,
And many are the empty words "I do—"
But maybe—if you're lucky—he will pause,
Amid the joy and light and revelry,
And ponder how it's really all for you.