When you’re young, so very young, 

Valentines beguile with promises

Big and puffy, sweet like orange circus peanuts,

Or salty as cheese curls fresh outta the bag.

“Be mine,” they scream, “be only mine.”

I want you, my own Valentine,

How? Like another scoop of vanilla?

Or the wiggly snuggle of a puppy?

And there were so many,

Everyone in the class

Seemed to get three or four.

What do you do with seven?

Just be patient, valentine,

Valentines grow up, too

Punch out cards, and lettered hearts

With cutsy messages get dated.

Someone will want roses

Another, a heart of chocolates

Across the miles, the telephone

Connects two hearts as one.

Venders only know commercial

Selling what they have

And so, so many valentines

Are wasted, foolish efforts.

The very best of valentines

Are seldom ever red.

They make no mention of the day,

Just of the one who’s loved.

Like new rope for a mountain climber,

Or a signed first edition book,

Gifts that really fit

Must be chased down long before.

I’ve thought how few there are

Who will buy daring lingerie 

Wrapped with a perfumed note enclosed:

I’ll wear this just for you, my love.

Or, a weekend bed and breakfast

Leaving computers, and cell phones off,

Putting conversation and exploration on

Whether or not it is February 14.

I hope in secret hope, before I die

Someone will give me such a gift;

Or, barring such felicity, maybe I’ll get to hear

“This is the best valentine anyone ever gave me.”

Because, when you’re older

The trail behind’s far longer than the one before,

And if hope didn’t learn at disappointment turn

Than what purpose did it serve?