in your pink woollen dress,
a pink woollen rose in your hair?
I do not see your blue bouquet.
Your big eyes plead.
What can I give you,
bride in your improvized wedding wear?
A knitted furbelow trims your knee,
a knitted rose pinned in your do.
Why have you wandered
empty-handed from the chapel
wringing your gold-ringed finger?
Younger than I you married in a wink,
no time to hem a wedding veil.
Yes, you said, and your tears brimmed
splashing your short-vamped shoes.
What can I tell you, pink woollen bride?
Your rose unravels in your hair.
I'll knit it in a minute.
There. A flame.
Like love it outburns the world.
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