cer cruz

She wondered who had sent it:
A carnation stapled to a note.
The text, read out loud, fit
her dreams; she knew it was no joke.
The heart flowed round edges
of the pinking scissored paper.
The staple pressed the green pledged
stalk in one, firm, holding taper.
Now her eyes, and smile did meet
upon the printed surface,
two winding words on sheet
did obscure the author's face.
Anon Anon the story goes
and Valentine for now did show
a heart in hiding never knows
the pleasure of the lover's arrow.