At the ancient age of sixty- nine,
I must confess to this,
I still harbor a secret longing,
For a romantic Valentine kiss.
Not that I haven't had my share,
Of roses, champagne and such,
But once you reach your "waning" years,
You miss that special touch.
I feel a sense of envy,
For those with sweethearts close at hand,
They're the ones, with twinkling smiles,
And special evenings planned.
I'll spend the evening by myself,
Sipping wine while the fire burns,
Immersed in Valentine memories,
Of the man for whom my heart still yearns.