The dress had been her mother’s
And her grandmother’s, before her,
And grandmother had sewn the gown herself.
It had been kept safe in a box
With layers of tissue paper,
In mama’s room, high up on a shelf.
There were yards of handmade lace,
And tiny pearls along the sleeves
That buttoned tight to fit a young bride’s wrists,
It was a gown made of white satin
With a train that trailed the floor,
And a petticoat that when you walked, it swished.
Grandma also made the veil,
With a cunning floral crown
And tiny crocheted rosebuds all around,
With lace and net she wove the veil,
Flowing so it touched her heels,
Long enough to almost reach the ground.
It was a gown for all to see
That it represented purity,
It made a silent statement to them all.
A statement that a bride proclaimed,
As she took her husband’s name,
And he walked alongside her, standing tall.
It was made to last forever
For the brides within the family
She known someday she’d wear the gown with pride.
But when came her wedding day
She found she couldn’t say
She would wear the dress, for it would be a lie.
–Sandra Lee Smith