Befuddled Little Bride
A little befuddled bride could be heard crying on the hillside.
She huddled near a very brittle tree.
Muddling over the belittlement of her groom to be.
She ruddled her hair with anger.
Her piddling wasn’t solving anything.
She straddled her mare and took off in a gallop.
Twiddling her way down the hillside.
The gallop slowed to a trot.
As the mare entered the country road.
She veered the mare from a puddle of mud.
Trotting to the stables with her head hung high.
Why should I show shame when I am not the blame.
It is the groom who dishonored me not my fame.
That’s my blast from the past.
He’s my blast into the future.
When I become his little befuddled bride.
Copyright © Patrica Bowen Salyers | Year Posted 2006
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