The violin plays.

A soothing melody that would lull children to sleep,

but we dance to it’s tunes, my dear.

A slow, tender dance in the ballroom.

My gown glitters, and you so sharp in your suit,

we are the stars of the ball.

All eyes are on us, and we dance.

There is not even a hushed whisper

as we move gracefully across the polished wooden floor.

The only sound is the rustle of the fabric

of my dress, and the gentle tapping

of your heavy shoes.

To think, we were children once, young

but not in love. For you were too immature

and I too much of a tomboy to know of love.

Yet all the villages knew one day we would be here.

Wed, dancing on this floor, celebrating our lives joined

at last in matrimony.

I remember running in the fields with naught but my undergarments

because mother would know we’d been out playing

if my dress were dirty.

You at my side, laughing and trying to be a man, though you were only a boy.

Swimming in the creek down the hill from my farm,

riding horses in your father’s stables.

Oh, what grand times!

Now here I am, a colonial belle, dancing with a colonial soldier.

Here in Charlestown, with a war being fought miles away.

Tomorrow, you will go away to fight for our nation’s independence.

Tomorrow, you will leave me, your unquestionable wife, to fight beside your countrymen.

Yet you will return, for this newly wed wife will not so soon

become a widow of the Revolution.

You will return from this war my love,

but for now we dance.

The violin plays.