Mein Valentine Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

I tell you mate, I've heard it all again.
The buy their cards and all the crap
like chocolates from the Swiss
and truffles from Liège
to say that they are still,
without a doubt, their Valentines.

To celebrate the day,
to show the world
that LOVE is still alive
and that you gladly put
your money on the bar.

I will not stand to now presume
that I could ever be the final judge
who passes on the world,
its citizens, so full of warts
as were the members of
the great Judiciary.

But I can tell you this, dear John,
I am, without a maxillary blush
so deep within the cave
of one whose LOVE
makes just a mockery
of Gods and men alike.

My Valentine, she smiles.
Her wave follows for many miles.
And, when I catch her eyes
she tells no lies.