I send a single, silken note with lace.
My whispered chant of love an offering here.
My pen now bends upon the parchment face;
my pause with solemn thought as in a prayer.
I halt and scratch the surface of a dream;
seems all my sense now frail with disbelief.
There is no logic to the shattered theme.
Some impulse guides the hopeless heart bereaved.
Still, quiet churns that inner voice for you
just as the rain will drop to bend the leaf;
just as the white-out turns my heart slate blue,
I am a part of universal grief.
The world will not forget you, Valentine,
so long as I remember you, sublime.