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My Valentine has a ticket to ride,
So London town beware!
New wings will carry her up north,  
A pass to Leicester Square.
Let Big Ben toll and chime aloud,
St James Park should prepare,
The hustle of the Covent calls, 
For her to stop and stare.
Our Festival will a singing show,  
But not a stage needs she,
For Shakespeare wets her rosy lips,
Or a lovely cup of tea.
A winking Thames will guide her way,
Along a South Bank charming;
For knowing swans will nod and sway
To see again their darling.
And she indeed is friend in kind,
To changing guards and steads,
A wine bar to intrigue her sense,   
But a wooden hut to feast!
She rides the tube - this surfing queen,
No palace holds her bound,
No chains to shackle regal wrists,
In no tower is she found.
Free as the wind, sweet honey bee,
She feeds my love in rations, 
My desire for her will never fade,
But London is her passion!

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