I’ve gotten a lot of mileage out of the following poem, written decades ago, and decided to share it here for all those who haven’t lined up a honey for Saturday’s sharing of the Blue Plate Special…


A Valentine Verse for Modern Times

I stood in the card shop,

My heart at my feet,

While staring at greetings

All mushy and sweet.

February fourteen

Came early this year,

I don’t have a “Honey,”

Or a guy to call “Dear.”

I was gathering missives

For family and friends,

But I read every message

To see how it ends.

The cards were all leering

In red, pink and white,

And I couldn’t find greetings

I thought were “just right.”

I got quite depressed

As I stood there that day,

So I shrugged, and I sighed,

And walked sadly away.

“If you weren’t quite so picky,”

Said Anna Marie,

“I’m sure that you’d find

A suitable ‘He.’

“To what kind of man

Would you mail out a card?

If you narrow it down,

It shouldn’t be hard.”

“I’m NOT picky!” I screamed

At the top of my voice,

“I’m single, not desperate,

It’s just there’s no choice!

“All the good ones are married

Or live far away,

And I’m feeling quite lonely

This Valentine’s Day.”

“Then tell me,” she challenged,

“Describe Mr. Right.

Then I’ll know when I see him

Some Saturday night.”

“Okay, “ I relented,

“Proceed if you must,

But I think your idea

Will be a big bust.”

She gave me “that look,”

Stared me straight in the eye,

So I tried to imagine

The most perfect guy.

“…His hair might be blond,

Or perhaps it’s quite dark,

He’s tall or he’s short,

But he sings like a lark.”

“Go on, “ she implored me.

“What else is he like?

Are his eyes blue or brown?

Does he fish, does he hike?”

“I’m thinking,” I told her,

“Of what’s bottom line.

Getting down to the essence

Takes a great deal of time…

“…He doesn’t do drugs

Or smoke cigarettes,

He likes to play Scrabble,

And lets me win bets.

“He might wear glasses,

Or a ring in his ear,

He speaks his own mind,

His opinions are clear.

“He’ll do small repairs

And change the car oil,

His cooking exceeds

Bringing water to boil…

“Yes, he’ll often cook dinner,

When home from his job,

And he’ll pick up his socks,

Cause this guy’s not a slob.

“His jokes make me laugh,

I know he’s quite smart,

He’s romantic, sincere,

And he calls me ‘Sweetheart.’

“He’s kind and he’s gentle,

He’d not hurt a fly,

He votes Democratic,

That’s my kind of guy!”

“A Greek God!” said my friend,

Dear Anna Marie,

“When you find him, please ask

If there’s a brother for me!

“Your list sounds a lot

Like a card that I’d buy

One for women still looking

For their special guy…”

“You’re brilliant!” I told her,

“I could make quite a lot!

I’ve spent a small fortune

On cards that I’VE bought!”

So I got out some paper,

And fired up my pen,

And where my verse started,

This poem will end:

“Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

Is there any such person

As Mr. Will Do?”