I, soldier: Unwittingly into battle

And here I saw a longed, shaded divine
Hear that? The Bride Lady is weeping, is weeping
A polished companion and fields to dine,
My Lady is searching, is searching.

She’s paused in her walk through my glittering aisle
The Bride Lady is mending, is mending
An altar steals my eyes; burnt finger, smile!
My Lady is standing, is standing.

Welts for my ignorance, light-flung Latin’s chime
The Bride Lady is speaking, is speaking.
“Would you, my guest, take in your style?”
My Lady is sending, is sending.

This is one of tasks the Bridegroom asks Her to do
Sending, and sending
My will to arrogance, and with feud
Keep calling; seize calling.

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