The Road Beneath Our Feet

Going To The Chapel

It’s time to go,
The preacher’s waiting
But when I stitch my wedding dress
It turns to snow. I start over,
Someone is calling me. I meant to go.
My fingers are freezing, sewing the snow. 
Don’t you see, they’re calling me
Because Mama is crying.
I’m working as fast as I can
With hands so cold and
A dress made of snow, frozen
Yet I need to go.
The dress melts faster than I can sew
And he’s waiting as my hands turn stiff.
He met me in the daisies and put one in my hair.
He’s waiting for me somewhere in the snow.

— Grace Cavalieri