War bride

A morning glory that climbs a stalk of wheat can’t expect to last the summer. My parents married me to a soldier. I would have been better tossed in a ditch. I married in the morning, and in the evening my husband couldn’t warm my bed. He’d been sent to guard the border, which isn’t far, only impossible. I’m not sure I’m actually a wife, so what do I say to his mother? Do I grieve if he dies in the war? Did I promise my life to a ghost? Even birds of the sky do better. They nest in pairs and wage no wars.