11. Valentines

I often wonder why it is, when we are very young,
We buy a batch of valentines that we will send among
Our little friends both boys and girls with no discerning eye.
But we a little older grow, and larger ones we buy,
To give to some one special girl our heart has set upon,
Be she a dainty damsel fair or hearty Amazon.
But as our love grows warmer and courting really starts,
We buy her chocolates once a year in boxes shaped like hearts.
And when the nuptial knot is tied, unless we've been misled,
We bring her posies every year, quite likely roses red.
And as the evercircling years roll on upon their way,
There's one thing that will never change, though youth has passed away.
We'll love her at the twilight of life, as at the noon,
Though fifty years of married life have passed since honeymoon.
And when we've reached that grand old age when we are ninety-nine,
We'll not forget to take her home - a lovely valentine.

Comments:  My Dad wrote this poem when he was about twenty.  He had already met my Mother and decided that she was "the girl for me."  They had been married for sixty-three years when he died - not at ninety-nine, but at eighty-nine.  And, every year, he gave Mother a beautiful valentine.