Merry Burial

Should winter bride in with her dower of chill:
A layer of white fits to cushion the hill
A coating of night fits to shelter the vale
Both skin grafts torn off ye fair bridegroom. Unveil

The share you're betrothed to: if grim, strewn with frost
Go, chip crusty hymen and hallow that host–
The shroud remains yours, just the maiden's a cheat
Albeit her oncoming dark no deceit.

Yet brickwork and tile make a coffin to house
In hideaway happy enough near that spouse;
A sickroom for shell far too frail to appease
Dejection will finally warrant your ease.

September 27, 2001 Atonement