A street with gas-inflamed streets,
Sides competing for room with the crammed stores, one-by-one, down the road
And there it is,
In the window of another shop,
It's that glorious tribute to a past we've
Or otherwise ignored,
With no consideration to the beauty it once held.
And I sigh because the symbolic wrap of grace is something I may never pursue, but might
In a fast-written tale of how I see it,
That can make man wish
To behold such a treasure before him,
Of quiet purity
And can make any woman
Put a hand to her heart and hope
For a chance at that
For a chance to wear a wedding dress.