The Winning Card


In days of yore, a Valentine
Was, incognito, sent.
And this was then all good and fine,
But who knew what it meant?

When girl who would receive a stack,
With face like back of bus,
Sincerity, perhaps, they’d lack
If she was shown such fuss.

And fair of form and nature might,
When never sent a one,
Have given all her beaux a fright,
Or not be thought much fun.

Perhaps one boy amused himself
By sending off a score
To poor girl firmly on the shelf —
Or she, to self, sent more!

How great the Valentines though, where
A faithful card received
On every fourteenth Feb each year,
By true love was conceived.

And she finds, after they are wed,
That all by him were sent;
Thus all by true love had been sped
To lives together spent.

© February 2018 Colonialist
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About colonialist

Active septic geranium who plays with words writing fantasy novels and professionally editing, with notes writing classical music, and with riding a mountain bike, horses and dinghies.
This entry was posted in Flash Fiction, Rhyme, verse and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

8 Responses to The Winning Card

  1. What a shame it’s now all about money.

    You captured the true Valentines day, that is long gone, but not forgotten by old codgers like me.

    …..no mention of a pair of gloves though; but then they’re not really applicable to your poem

    Like

  2. It’s still the 14th here! And that was lovely Les 🙂

    Like

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