The Year Of The Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Your love is doing the action—but who is it doing it to
And where—If this is Valentine's Day,
And we made love on this day last year:
But you were married—and now I am married,
But it is something of the nature of revenge—
Because—before—my bones used to ring on your
Bones, but it wasn't enough:
I bought you cakes on your birthday—and crawled
On all fours,
But no luck: So I travelled across the world
And found a little girl who would love me without any
Tricks: This Valentine's Day she got roses,
But she wanted lotus—and I am so wrong—
I sent her ten thousand dollars for our wedding:
She was born in the year of the chicken
And I was born in the year of the horse-
But it was to you, once again, to whom I
Wrote my song.