Once white, it was, to match her, wedding gown
My shy, rustic grandpa’s, urbane, bride-to-be
Between, unknown hamlet, and a, well-known town
Time sat, like a sage, with, split personality!

Was his love, that seized, her fantasy
Or a, fleeting fling, for the, country life
She was, his redemption, from his, insufficiency
A half-literate, man’s, more than, debonair wife!

“You reek, of raw milk!” she, at last, had said
“Can you buy, your bride, a brand new Ford!”
The only farm, he had, he sold, shred by shred
To buy, the modest model, he could afford!

She came, in a Rolls Royce, her new lover, had, gifted her
To parody, pa’s passion, o’er four tires
Why a man, of pride, chose to be, a martyr
Heart flirts, with pain, soul sins, for desires!

It mourned, like a widow, for an age, to come
As virgin, as a bride, could be
A rusting dream, dares, decrees of realism
The Old Ford, By The, Mulberry Tree!

© 2021 Vikas Chandra