A long time ago, perhaps the 4th century,
There lived a figure, now most legendary.
While the history itself is mostly unclear,
He was the inspiration, for lovers most dear.
A martyr unlike those, we now see in the news,
He mostly kept Romans awake in the pews.
His crime was to marry, those both earnest and just,
Against the wishes of Emperor Claudius.
Alternatively, as the story professes,
He restored the sight of his jailor’s most precious.
This gift of pure love, in his last moments alive,
Became the legacy of Saint Valentine.
Sir Geoffrey Chaucer, a millennium later,
Made Valentine’s love official, putting pen to the paper.
In accordance with women, were the laws of courtship conceived,
In a High Court of Love; judges chosen by poem-reads.
Then came a time, when free-love was the way,
But vanished in the smoke of the hippie hey-days.
Now all that will work, to get a little neck with her,
Is an SUV trip, to the nearest confectioner.
Shower her in chocolate, until her defenses break down,
She’d taste good at least, drenched quite in dark brown.
Bring out the roses, perfumes and parfait,
So that we might smell nice, at least for one day.
Enough is never enough, in terms of her worth,
So prove it, you dunce, until your wallet hurts!
Run all over town- hither, thither and thee.
Purchase her diamonds and pearls, hopefully conflict-free.
All over the world, sorry shmoe’s do the same,
Lest not le jour end up “Singles’ Awareness Day”.
In Japan, however, the hardest put are the dames,
To all – including their boss – they must give gifts away.
Draw up a verse, put it to paper or bark,
If you’re stuck for a rhyme, there’s always Hallmark.
Go on a quest for the keys, to her chastity locks,
Or you can just make like JT, and put your ______ in a box.
Here in Hungary for sure, where chivalry still reigns,
You’ll catch many a fíu going to great pains.
To convince his dear love, with hair of magenta,
That in truth he does love, her paprikash polenta.
The lányok, for their part, go to lengths great and tall,
To spend hubby’s dough, on stringy things at the mall.
What’s an eyebrow’s intention, if not to get plucked,
What’s a good boy’s reward, if not to get _________.
Nowadays all is fair, in love and in war,
In our heads we are rich, and in heart we are poor.
But comes a time, ev’ry February fourteen,
To show our beloved, how much they really do mean.
So put on a show, make this day really count,
Take her out on the town, max out every account.
Put all else aside, except thoughts of true bliss,
And say to her softly: “I love you Dear Miss.”
