Monday, February 14, 2011

From a Valentine of Yore

February 14, 2002

For every time its own good rhyme
For every sun its daily run
My dearest valenthyme.

Time overlays with its pale haze
Our memories, youth’s mysteries
And love’s first fiery blaze.

Old streams run deep and all life feed
Old forests make dark groves of shade
Where owls old wisdom heed.

Yet for all that…

For me you are, by wide and far,
The youngest thing since the I Ching
The nightingale of early Spring
The breath of dawn, a milky fawn
The scented grace of my embrace
The love of life, the end of strife
A milk white dove, my own true love
The Lorelei of my own Rhine
My one and only — Valentine.

1 comment:

  1. This recycled poem is still and always much appreciated. You have been MY only Valentine these 51 years now...and a few more to come.

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