Her name was June-Bride,
The Southern Belle.
She grew up beautiful inside,
And every June
She took another
Husband.
She did this
For a decade-plus,
But at thirteen
She kicked a fuss
About bad luck.
So now she has
The dozen.
She finds them apt
To meet her needs.
They're all content
With pleasantries
and Surface charms.
Of these, her store is
Ample.
Still decades come
And go, by years.
And she'll outlive
Them all, she fears.
It's not so bad so far,
My dears.
It never rains
But pours sometimes,
But - never tears!
Except that stretch:
One dozen years.
For sake of form
Or something else,
She's always felt
Compelled herself
To cry at weddings
Of her own -
- Of which
As we have found
And known, she's had
Fair share. More than
Enough to sample
Sighs, and scratch, and itch.
And blush. Thirteen June husbands
After all our June-Bride hitched!
In one sweet harness, fit to ride.
She grew up
Beautiful inside.
And life turned out?
Okay, so far.
And not at all a bitch,
They say.
As happily ever after goes
From here, (as far as any can see)
To clear Eternity, or death. Or
Both?
She fears
She might outlive
Them all.
So far,
No funerals!
And so:
She'll dance in
Summer's suns.
Adored by all,
And
Every
One.
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