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Today we unveil our new bride,
The groom’s kinsmen think she’s
antithetical to pride
And there she hides!
Gravitating towards ‘angelic encounters’,
she rides;
Closer to the groom,
Holding a sceptre of broom!
The master of ceremony jokingly says:
She isn’t your maid
But your dirt shall have a raid!
Thinking it was worth a jocular say!
but the groom frowned!
Knowing the truth was gowned!
For he had been through this school
Tears he cried could fill a pool!
And as they merried and cheered,
He thought:
Even with all you’ve wrought!
haaa! not all angels are virgins!
And not all virgins are angels
At least your porus and malodorous
