A valentine’s secret as I grow old,
Is a whisper not so bold,
But, still a matter of the heart,
‘Tho we’ve ended up apart.
The message’s silence I behold.
O’er the years that compose history,
Strong feeling tones are still a mystery,
Ever present and tucked away,
Like a comment whispered fey,
Whose vibrations hint bewitchery.
So, a silent wish is a valentine,
Rough-hewed by years of decline,
To skip a message and its schmaltz,
Yet, have a place for beauty’s waltz,
Where faint wishes still shine.
Love, whatever, is tucked away,
A total loss is kept at bay,
Like a worn keepsake,
A shadowy thought at daybreak,
Old love moves like a stray.
Francis Conlon is a retired and recovering teacher. For the past 20 years, he has worked as a seasonal river ranger and boat inspector at Yampa River State Park in northwest Colorado. He has published in the local Valley Voice and in Westward Quarterly. He currently lives in Salt Lake City, Utah.