A poet’s life should bear no stress.
But once a year’s OK, I guess.
It’s the only day that I truly fear.
And Valentine’s Day is growing near.
It’s the only day when something’s expected.
And a bad poem that day may be rejected.
So I show her my love in every way.
She’s awakened to kisses every day.
Flowers not often but she likes the surprise.
I love to see the joy in her eyes.
I tell her she’s lovely, my beautiful queen.
And that she’s the star on my big screen.
Hugs are many and poems not a few.
After all, it’s what I supposedly do.
But today I’m stressed as the day is near.
I expect something special for my beloved dear.
So alone I sit with pencils all ready.
My mind’s jumbled but my hands are steady.
I think of the love she gives to me.
And that she’s the one I long to see.
The hour grows late, now time for a rest.
I’ll awaken tomorrow and be at my best.
I’ll hold her close and nibble her ear.
And I’ll try not to worry about one day a year.