Where is love, not in a Valentine card
A red rose or a ring
Appealing perhaps to the emotionally scarred
Where is love, not a sonnet sweetly read
Great sex or 'touchy- feely' time
Dinner for two, satin sheets on a bed
Nor sickly verse, that's nursery rhyme.
No, love is waking on a grey morning
Pushing her in her chair
What a stroke of bad luck that left her speechless
Thank God that her man is there.
And love is pensioners holding hands
A tea dance just for two
Scratched 78's and Dorsey's band
And a kiss that's still brand new.
Amore in dance steps arthritic
Would melt the heart of any critic.
Yes, love is a painting on a fridge door
Or her locket when he went to war
Kissing her better from a cancer scare
Reading his love letters candlelit in a chair
A family huddle, a toddler's cuddle
A Grandmother's smile
All much more my style.
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