The Corkscrew and the Strawberry

For Mary and for Catherine, on this their wedding day,
a shoddy piece of doggerel, a quick scribble to say
how glad I am to be here, how honoured by the chance
to celebrate your union, with Phoenix Gold and dance.

Marriages are tricky, we don't always get them right
(or wrong, exactly, given how our offspring bring delight).
But love's hope springs eternal, as all of us can see
and Catherine and Mary have now forged a unity.

We Quakers are a funny lot, there's nowt as queer as folk:
my role today is witnessing, it's God as makes the yoke.
Though I'm not much of a Quaker with this pint here in my hand
the still small voice inside me tells me she will understand.

Accepting one another, each her weaknesses and faults.
Her toplessness at parties or her yen for single malts.
An artwork stands as metaphor, for marriage to the max:
a corkscrew and a strawberry, bound up with melted wax.

We all know who's the strawberry, her sweetness not in doubt
her patience and her willingness to understand about
the corkscrew's latest project: the new artwork on the wall;
the mattress on the staircase; who's that dog out in the hall?

The melted wax? is all of us: society of friends,
supporting and embracing both, round all life's dangerous bends,
enfolding this sweet union, this key and harmony,
this drumbeat and this heartsong, this pocket symphony.

Is this parallel too strained, all this from that drunken mess?
but the answer's where we seek it, even innocents confess.
Always speaking truth to power, says that voice in playful dress,
as with glorious affirmation, the universe shouts YES!