A Perfect Gent

He was a perfect gent, Who having thus been lent, This, Oh such precious key, With which to view a property, Which he hoped she might like to buy. She'd deemed him a lovely guy. He was a perfect gent, Who seemed to be intent, On making so sure that she, Felt absolutely free, To look around the place, And, perhaps, consider it her base. He was a perfect gent, Who seemed to be content, To follow just behind Her, whilst she was thus inclined, To take her time to survey, Each room along the way. He was a perfect gent, Who smiled at her and sent, A shiver, down her spine, Which to her was quite divine, Leaving her with a special kind, Of fascination, in her mind. He was a perfect gent, Who hoped that she'd consent, To become his future wife, And to travel so, through life, Hoping too, that this property, Would hold the vital key. He was a perfect gent, Who in the time they spent Together, in this prime location, Made her feel such wild elation, That, standing entranced by his side, She consented to become his bride. © Ernestine Northover