A poem for my grandparents' sixtieth wedding anniversary

One of the occupational hazards of being a poet is that I often get called upon to produce a piece of work to celebrate family occasions. If I am lucky I can have a look through my back catalogue and find something that fits the bill, but I thought that my grandparents' sixtieth wedding anniversary was an event that truly warranted a new creation. I can't really even imagine being alive for sixty years, let alone married for that length of time. I believe love is the greatest achievement of which humans are capable, and to sustain love for this long is a feat every bit as magnificent as a Van Gogh painting or a Shakespeare play. Probably more so. Here is my poem, followed by the picture that inspired it. 

A Photo of My Grandparents’ Wedding

There he is: tall, handsome, smartly-dressed

and although he doesn’t know it yet

he’s embarking on a journey

he’ll still be on sixty years later. 

And next to him, petite and poised

his new wife is about to cut the cake,

her knife set to slash the ribbon

and commence the adventure.

How could they know

through this monochrome gauze

between them and their future

just what it is that they will encounter?

How could they comprehend

the abundance that will fill their lives

like parcels stacked in pyramids

under a wide-armed tree?

This duo will soon become three, 

then four, then gradually more, each new life

twisting tendrils round their trunk

and clasping them together.

This couple will go on to build,

brick on brick, an edifice held forever

with the cement of the shared memories

they couldn’t have fathomed then.

Yet, as I place their picture in front of me,

it’s almost as though I can sense

sixty years’ worth of love in their sepia smiles. 

And as I look up at them now

I can still see them as they were back then:

joining hands, linking hearts

and looking forward

to unknown wonders ahead.