Maggie with the Roses in Her Hair

There's a hush of expectation
From the silent, standing throng,
Then a burst of jubilation
As the band begins a song,
Ends their breathless supplication—
We behold the maiden fair:
'Tis Maggie with the roses in her hair.

And the groom, looks on; he's beaming
As he sees his bride-to-be,
And the smile that he's gleaming
Is the sign for all to see
Of the love within him, seeming
That it'd burst him, then and there,
For Maggie with the roses in her hair.

And her Mama's gently crying
As her father gives away
All their sweat and tears and trying
And their pride and joy today,
But it's hard to see the sighing
In her Daddy's stoic air,
Losing Maggie with the roses in her hair.

She can barely hear the preacher
As she looks into his eyes,
Who's the one that has to show her
What it means to be the prize
Of the most important creature
That her world can ever bear:
Be his Maggie with the roses in her hair.

And they come into New Salem
(And behold, all things are new)
And descend upon each other
'Til they fill each other's view.
"It is finished!" cries the Maker,
"He the tree of life shall share
With Maggie with the roses in her hair."

—For Christa, 5/25/13