Long Flower girl Poems
Long Flower girl Poems. Below are the most popular long Flower girl by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Flower girl poems by poem length and keyword.
Uncertain Picture
We see her in the garden of this world.
Adorned in beauty seldom seen among women.
Gentle in all her ways; like a young doe in the forest.
Her large innocent eyes, are gentle pools of blue.
Her face an alabaster lily,
Framed by the warm sunbeam of her hair.
She is quietly arrayed; in natural beauty.
The gentle rustle of her skirts, makes music when she walks.
She sits among the daffodils; blending with the flowers;
Till she is one of them,
Only brighter than the rest.
Purest of the pure she seems; cleanest of the clean.
Then she lights up a filter king;It’s springtime fresh.
It’s amazing how you hold yourself
When those around you have fallen away
And there you were, to be or not
They’ll whisper until you break
They’ll whisper until you bow
Visit’s the church of her Christ
But you know it’s not where you belong
They can’t tell you who to be
But then we wouldn’t have a song to sing
Flower girl in her mothers dress
She ran away from home
Knew her worst was she at her best
Handed down jewels around her neck
This is all of my runaway you may love
So it was goodbye to everything
When there was nothing left of you to steal
Something made up when nothing else was real
This loneliness was yours
Because no one knew how to keep your ease
And your family closed the doors
Replaced you
With the love for something they had no use for
Roses in the air
As the weather smeared your smile
If this is where it ends
With the fragrance of a child
She was like roses in the air
You were scattered around your needs
A soft and gentle breeze
But the world was so careless with it’s touch
Her roses felt the air
When the world was not so nice
You held your tears at night
“story of last night”
Standing in front of the altar, mesmerized by a vision in white
On the arm of another man, paternal pride across his face
This woman I fell in love with, within the hour to be my wife.
I fell deeply in love forever, the first time she came into sight
Immediately knowing then and there I would come to this holy place
Standing in front of the altar, mesmerized by a vision in white.
Our love flourished over the years, preparing us for this flight
Into matrimonial union with a ballet duet dancer’s grace
This woman I fell in love with, within the hour to be my wife.
Soon to pledge our vows in a church full of candle light
I see her beautiful smile beaming through the veil of lace
Standing in front of the altar, mesmerized by a vision in white.
In front of our friends as witness, voicing a commitment that is so right
Ready to share eternity, completely void of any disgrace
This woman I fell in love with, within the hour to be my wife.
The flower girl having laid your journey with a feeling so contrite
I wait patiently for the moment the two of us embrace
Standing in front of the altar, mesmerized by a vision in white
This woman I fell in love with, within the hour to be my wife.
The Fairy Tale Wedding of Prince William and Sandra
Married life ahead
Future wonders and unknowns
To forever share
Enchanting was the view of bride and groom,
with bridesmaids, lovely in their pastel gowns
of varied colors, maid of honor, too;
ring bearer, flower girl, each six years old,
best man, four ushers in the wedding group.
So special were Marines in fine dress blues,
who stood and made a saber-arch for them
as they descended steps of their old church...
Newburgh, New York, in Nineteen-Fifty Eight.
Their wedding celebration was a feast
for family and many friends who came.
Good food and music made a happy time,
as they all danced and shared the joyous day.
They cut the cake with a Marine Corps sword,
a cake, three layers, each on pillars graced
with pretty swans and cherubs placed around...
then gently fed each other one small piece,
and came together with a sweetened kiss.
That evening, they began their journey 'home',
nine-hundred miles away to the Corps base,
to start a brand new life...husband and wife.
At only age eighteen, how brave she was
to leave her family and friends behind.
But love provides a courage unforeseen
with needs to be beside the one you love...
June, Nineteen Fifty-Eight...and still today...
wed sixty years, this June, Twenty-Eighteen.
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Contest: Fairy Tale Wedding ~ Revised
Sponsor: Alexis Y
Judged: 10/08/2018
~2nd Place~
Contest: My Wedding Was Special Because...
Sponsor: Olive Eloisa Guillermo
Judged: 07/31/2016
Weddings used to be solemn.
Reverent.
No one spoke as they entered the church.
It was like a funeral only less flowers.
Super respectful air of silence.
Solemn occasion.
We took it seriously.
Even the children entered quietly.
If there was a peep, people looked.
The rites were serious.
The priest or minister walked up and we could not hear their shoes.
Beautiful music was played.
Groom and best man walked up first.
No grinning or talking.
We watched in silence.
Bridesmaids walked up a certain way.
Flower girl laid down petals in silence.
Ring bearer dropped the rings and no one laughed.
Reverent.
A solemn occasion
When the song came on, we all stood for the bride.
No one stands for the bride now.
Bride and groom are pulled in on a sleigh with their children
Wedding held in a pub. Everyone laughing, guzzling beer.
Minister got his license sending in two crackerjack box tops and five dollars.
If he is not funny enough, some guests leave.
Mountain oysters are on the bar.
Yucka Yucka. Marriage is over in three months.
Marmie was beyond beautiful, ready for this day, all of her life.
Thadius was feeling great, marrying a helpmate and friend this day.
They were matched in intellect, emotionally sound, without strife.
They had met at work, and established a friendship first, smartest way.
His family and friends were grinning with curiously surprised faces, not quite sure.
But her friends and family knew that she was clear in her mind,
Thadius was the one.
They were the loveliest couple of all time, so young and sweet and pure.
The flower girl tipped her basket, spilling out the rose petals, which was fun.
The minister mispronounced his name, so Marmie corrected him
in a subtle way.
Her hand was in his, and they smiled at each other like a trophy they had won.
We, the bride’s family, knew it was a terrific ending to a well-thought out day.
The groom’s family was relieved he had found a wife who knew how to have fun.
We did not know them well, and they did not know us either,
but over the years.
Sharing six grandchildren, and arriving at events to watch and play,
We have learned them, and they have learned us,
and there are absolutely no fears
That our daughter is in the best of hands,
even if she lives six hours away.
Jacque had been a flower girl in Jack’s brother’s wedding.
He was the ring bearer, who picked her basket up when she spilled it.
He dried her tears, and helped her collect the red rose petals.
Together they proceeded down the aisle, and she was in love.
They met at Jack’s brother’s sixth wedding. She was grown up.
She knew his eyes, but could not remember why she knew them.
No one remembered the story until after their own wedding.
Jack's Aunt May had discovered the photo of the two of them as children.
Gave the framed photo to them as a wedding present.
Saying, “God knew that you two were always meant to be.”
They could not stop smiling or dancing after they opened this gift.
Not remembering it on a conscious level, but loving the story.
The world is quiet here
Yet growing louder by the day
Renting paradise from vultures
Split amongst two flavors of instability
I clamored and dreamed for that golden armor
That title that would cement my name in history
To be a "hero" to someone I'd lose contact with forever
Scars fade, and eternity is short
I saw my dreams given flesh
No gaps left to fill with fantasy
Universally agreed upon perfection
Yet we all clamor for the imperfect
Through them, my dreams were given flesh
Warmth on warmth, fear on tenderness
To be able to understand but not empathize
In a way that mattered enough to keep dreaming
The consciousness may forget, but the body remembers
Every molecule tattooed on my gray matter
Screaming for familiarity in that paradise of dreams
How cruel the unconscious mind may be at times
Ego death and carry on
Memories I can hardly call mine when it feels like I died
Piloting a stranger's corpse with his own baggage
Who were you, Derek? Why do I dream your dreams?
Redwood, redwood
The perfect antidote to tradition and trauma
So why does the latter grip me so
When it makes such a poor foundation?
The flower girl piloting your body is a mass of contradiction
Clinging to your first word, your fervent dream
A redwood ship battered by your cresting waves
Die a better death and quit clinging to your remains
I wish you were me
As anyone wishes they could do it all over again
I know your pain better than you do
Even if it meant I would die, I'd grant you that knowledge
Mother Theresa burns in Hell
Knowing there's nothing noble about suffering
The modern king's cruel facsimile of Jesus' word
Would make that poor carpenter weep in sadness and rage
You needn't have feared, poor Derek
For in choosing to hug over maim
You were far closer to Him than anyone
Who blindly listened to the charlatan on the pulpit while you slept
You were blindly resilient, sweet departed
So grant me that tenacity and simplicity
If I grant you the peace you desired
Will you grant me the peace that I do?
The roaring bull
enters the arena;
clouds of dust raise.
Then the slender matador
in tight attire arrives;
he has no knowledge
of who is watching.
The prettiest girl
in traditional dress
has set eyes on him;
her posture is elegant.
A red flower in her dark hair
suggests an inflamed passion.
It's a scorching day
in Madrid; the fan she holds
does little or nothing
to keep her cool.
Thoughts in their minds
contradict; she's the admirer
from the balcony.
He is the fighter in the arena.
He must kill that bull
to win her; fierce are his looks
while his hands keep on fanning
the red cloth to gain control.
He can't lose this fight;
he must win at any cost.
It's a battle of strength and pride;
man against animal.
Ah, the bull succumbs to injury...
maestro grabs his horns and claims victory!
" O Matador, my matador...
you are the bravest one in all Spain! "
Stretching her arms.
.
I SEE THE FLOWER GIRL
NEARLY EVERYDAY,
WHEN I PURCHASE THE OFFICE
A FRESH BOUQUET.
WITH HER PLAYFUL SMILE
AND GOLDEN LOCKS.
WHEN WE MEET
TIME TENDS TO STOP.
AS SHE GOES THROUGH
HER DAILY SPECIALS
SHE TENDS
TO PUT ON A SHOW.
AMBROSIAL FRAGRANCE
FROM AROUND THE WORLD
WITH BOTANICAL NAMES
SHE KNOWS.
WITH HER WICKER BASKET
SHE COLLECT FRESH FLOWERS.
AND BABY'S BREATH
FOR IT'S MAGICAL POWERS.
MAGNIFICENT COLORS AND BEAUTY
A FRAGRANCE OH SO GRAND.
AS I REACH OUT
FOR MY BOUQUET.
I GENTLY HOLD HER HAND.
HER BEAUTY TAKES
MY BREATH AWAY.
HER SOFT AND GOLDEN SKIN.
I JUST WANT TO CLOSE MY EYES,
AND DEEPLY BREATHE HER IN.
SHE'S VERY AWARE
I'M INHALING HER IN,
AND RELEASES
HER INNER SOUL.
SHE GIVES OF HERSELF
ALL THE SHE HAS,
WITH A WARM AND GENTLE GLOW.