In March’s tender grasp, we chose our fate, A ring gleamed in the shop's soft, hidden light, We booked a room to seal our joyful state, Each heartbeat whispered of our love's delight. In hotel walls, the air hummed low with dreams, Chris paused; the weight of words, the ring, his cue— Impatience danced within my eager seams, And so I asked, "Are you going to do?" He knelt, an echo of tradition's sway, But swifter were my hands, which held the ring, An eager leap into our destined day, A touch, a bond of heartbeats, promising. Now on our wedding morn, vows softly blend, Two souls as one, our love without an end.