First Valentine
First Valentine
The brandishing green of winter grass,
So wielding in its way
As it guiles the hearts of first lovers
To hold hands on a sunny day;
Fantasy of a Valentine.
In this time nature produces no red,
Save the berries on a few winter bushes,
Apples must another season wait,
To fake our lovers’ blind pushes
Into their first rose-tender kiss.
Budding sweethearts entertain possibilities
Of love in the green of here and now,
A modern Eve gives him a cardboard apple,
He accepts, his heart a surrendering bow.
His Valentine is his ever true ardor.
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