Photograph

Photograph

They stand
Together
Squinting against
The summer sun,
My mother in
A fragile dress,
My father in
White flannel
Trousers.
They will be married in
September
When my mother is
Twenty-one
And my father is ordained.
Then they will go
To a country church
Where there is need,
These polished city folks.
It will not be
A wise decision
But no one
Knows that yet
And there they
Stand,
Golden in the sun,
Before time
Cuts them down
Like wheat.