brings the berry.
Empty hearts are fed.
Winter dwindles.
Love rekindles.
Spring’s not far ahead.
The warm wind courts
a young man’s thoughts
that spoil for love and loving sports.
Mon Cherie,
please smile on me.
My heart is turning red.
Miss Valentine,
daughter of the Saint,
I’d do my worst
if I could burst
from etiquette’s restraint.
I do not jest:
I need your breast
and all your loveliness undressed.
My heart is hot
and yearns for what
makes man’s heart white and faint.
my jealousy
I try to keep unseen.
I see you meet
with indiscreet
devoted men and keen.
They take your hand
which I can’t stand.
It makes my fragile heart expand
with envy spreading
through the redding,
turning it to green.
is cloudy grey
or yellow with the sun,
or blue between
the clouds that lean
on sunshine till there’s none;
which ever hue,
grey, yellow, blue,
the colour of my heart is You.
This is the day
I hope you’ll say
your heart and mine are one.