Wedding Dress Poem by John F. McCullagh

I came home from your funeral dressed all in my Sunday best.
The shock of losing you is past and now I feel depressed.
Our house is large and empty now and silence roams the halls.
I remember the happier times before I lost it all.

Some weeks have passed and I've resolved to sell this place and leave.
I'll get a small apartment with just space enough to grieve.
Of course that means I'll have to pack and cast some things away.
That's how I came across the box saved from our wedding day.

How beautiful was the dress your wore on the night that we were wed
I still can hear the music played when you pretended that I led.
The hand sewn pearls, the lavish lace, your falling auburn curls.
How rich a man this pauper was when you were in my world.