Your Hand
Do not rush to take away, that -
Which sooths the fevered brow,
For I should be forever lact;
And stunted be this love that grow.
Recall of when the seed first spun
That, which unseen hand did sow;
When lost and weak, and parlour dun;
‘T’was natures golden gift; so know -
For countless moons and equal suns
Through Summers warm and Winters blow,
For countless years, ere all eons
My love shall blossom; ever to grow.
Forever may the beauty stay,
In hand you gave on wedding day.
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