She stands in the mirror,

A vision in white against rosy skin.

The dress could be rags,

But you wouldn't miss the glow within.

Her hair is tumbled, artful locks,

Pinned into it is the veil.

Like a delicate blossom, she blooms,

But the love in her eyes is not frail.

Those eyes are soft and doe-like,

Tender and brimming with tears.

No one would blame her if she cried,

After all, the day is here.

She is a sister, a daughter, a friend,

Everyone she loves most knows it.

But today she becomes a wife,

To this she will commit.

But really, she always has,

There really was no other.

She is the groom's bride,

And neither will take another.

So when she steps into the hall,

Her father at her side,

She gazes at him gazing back,

Any doubts of hers subside.

When he looks upon her,

His face softens with such love,

The presider smiles knowingly because

They really do fit like a glove.