Her Wedding Day

Based upon an entry in the mid-19th Century autobiography of Presbyterian Theodore Clapp, who lived for several decades in New Orleans, Louisiana. Of the many young brides who I’ve married, None were more exquisite than her. Her pleasant charm, and smile so merry, Both made my old heart stir. Her fiancé loved her deeply And she cherished him like no other. Her father gave her away happily, In front of her joyful mother. In the afternoon wedding her vows were said, While a bouquet in hand she carried. Their reception next was well-attended, like many young couples that I have married. A few hours later, she fell deathly ill. Then suddenly, she no longer stirred. Later that night, in her wedding dress still, And with bouquet in hand, she was interred. Deep within her family sepulcher Remain four questions unanswered. Why then? Why her? What purpose was served? And how does one assuage the ones who loved her?