St. Valentine

Oh, tiny arrows, cinnamon-tipped, dipped in demerara sugar and crystalized honey
Beads of sweetness take flight
Arc and quiver and with sure fire aim,
Deliver up the promise of everlasting adoration: that love
That is not love beneath the tempest or alteration
But which in repose
Gladdens hearts quietly, without fanfare or agenda
Or need of candy coating

V. Day is not my favourite day - smacks off too much sickly-sweet gush and hyped-up over-commercialization. Fat little Cupid with his quick aim and what seems at times to be a warped sense of humour. Like Puck of the Greek gods.

Also it interferes with my birthday, making dinner reservations difficult to get and roses overpriced at double their actual value.

(Which reminds me that my red roses should have been white this year.

In honour of Richard III and York.)

Home of Richard III

Valentine's Day is for the kids. Cute paper hearts and pink cupcakes. Little girls writing BFFAE on envelopes and dotting their i's with tiny hearts. Little boys sending out cards with their messages of friendship delivered, somewhat incongruously, by transformers and robots.

But snark and cynicism aside, though I don't like the candy coating we have put on the day, I am a Romantic at heart and believe, really believe, that love that is true, love that is real, in whatever form or shape or time it may come, is as great a gift as anyone could ever have.