February Fourteenth Poem by Edwina Reizer

February, you are too short,
28 days in all.
Your days go by too quickly.
March, I hear you call.
You wish to blow your windy days
And whistle in the air.
You never give a thought to quietude
because you do not care.
Your only concern seems to be
to change the present scene.
And I am scratching out calendar days
except for number fourteen.
I save that date for hearts and flowers
for roses will be my gift.
And March winds will have to wait its turn
while love gives my spirit a lift.