Valentine's Day

February 14, 1997|By Margaret Doyle

In Chaucer's wood, the branches bud with birds.

Song showers fill the air.

Each little heart, no bigger than a corn,

with diminutive lust is stirred

for on this date,

the legends say, each bird

will surely find its mate.

Now windswept parking lots are bare.

Under eaves, small birds cluster,

vociferous in the drug store's neon light.

They must

seem choir to pilgrims come to venerate,

in shrines of scent and powder and paint,

the candy heart of the old red satin saint.

Pub Date: 2/14/97

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