“Fayre Play at St Pierre”

On September seventh, polish up your cheer,
We’re off to the Delta St Pierre Marriott, dear!
Where sashes are swish and centrepieces glow,
And cake samples vanish (purely for research, you know).

The florists are flirting with roses and fern,
While DJs audition, your first turn.
Photographers promise “no awkward chin,”
Then catch you mid–Prosecco with a crumb on your grin.

The suit guy swears you’ll look Bond-level sleek,
The dress folks say, “trust us”—then you cry for a week (happy tears!).
The baker unveils a six–tiered feat,
You nod very wisely and ask, “Is there more to eat?”

A celebrant winks, a harpist plucks,
The photo booth offers inflatable ducks.
Mum's eye favours, Dad's eye the bar,
Best man takes notes (from remarkably far).

So bring your Pinterest, bring your mate,
Bring questions you’ll forget at the stand by the gate—
And leave with a plan, some glitter in hair,
A heart full of “YES!” from the St Pierre Fayre.