A French Saga Part III : The Photoshoot

The photographer directed us to some trees
Outside to sunshine and a slight breeze
And queued us in rows according to size
So being quite small, there was no disguise
As coaxing, he steered me to the front row
My alarm at this stage, beginning to grow

Concentrating hard to look cheery and bright
And not as though I had taken a fright
Thinking of the special day ahead
And of your young sister who was to be wed
To her sweetheart, two souls that knew ...
Thoughts became distracted as I needed to spew

Many shots taken and at a sign of a break
I excused myself, and for the house did make
To bend over a bowl, feeling rather glum
As nothing was ready to spring from my tum
Not even the tiniest hint of a trickle
Who\'s ever heard of a belly that\'s fickle?

Feeling refreshed and a lot more hearty
Strolling through the garden to join the party
Who were still striking poses under the leaves
As before my exit and premonition to heave
Madame Pinard seeing I was well
Passed me the white board to hold for a spell

Now in the role of photographer\'s assistant
Thinking perhaps I was germ resistant
I pitched myself into the task
Oblivous to the draining white mask
That was my face, so pale and wan
Smiling across at the Pinard clan

All photos taken, with rising excitement
We piled into cars to cramping confinement
Beginning our journey to the first port of call
To the Mairie and the registry hall
Where we kissed our welcomes on each joue
And again, for here, tis four bisous not two.