Memory Of A Hand Shake Poem by Andrew Nawroski

No time did derange this fellow
Who gave me word to follow
In all attire their place
Brings no sorrow
A noble trait
Clasp your hand
and gesture with bow
Oh candour in disgrace
For believing thee
and be-fooled I became
In thy kingdom come.

Your wife I see her well
She stands before my bed
In sightly gown that you she wed
and wear her saintly perfume
Gently as halo around my head.

Sweet time you must have had
Those days that saints befell
In armour blazing flower
That left nothing to tell.

I yearn to shake your hand again
and dream upon dream
She as my wife in saintly gown
Fairly then would bed you down.