now simmering in the heart—
add red wine and it's very sweet,
the degree of love determines its heat.
There's a pink perfume sunrise
waiting patiently for its turn—
its rays are bright, though bittersweet born,
a thread for mending hearts torn.
There's a book of poetry
blown open by the wind—
a million words the poets have said,
always a favorite: Roses are red…
There's a day reserved for love
bearing cards and clich—
the candied tradition our hearts
know as Valentine's Day.
No comments:
Post a Comment