A handshake
In yester-week, a former friend I chanced to see, After decades gone by, perhaps twenty or three. His once-twisted locks now a snowy white hue, But dyed red, a hint of envy mounts in his view. Not I, but my old lady, remarked with a sigh, Recalling days, youth made me rose-red and spry. I recalled, when he jested at my imperial beard, As we met in the sunset bay, memories revered. Some habits cling tight, defying time's wave, After a concise handshake, he set forth on his stave. Likewise, we sailed toward the lake Victoria, Pardone, the impurity and sullage on its urban area Made our mood off, save God we dwell in roughage, This moon is in shock, for the sky is in landing stage. ©Poet Affaq 🌹