February Fifteenth

What happened to those juke-box notes
Of wonder when I fell for you
And blew the froth off root-beer floats
To hear you promise to be true?

Now sepia-toned life returns
In poodle skirts and roller-skates;
A rose is red because it burns
Unlike these ice-cream parlor dates.

Now I could give you black and white,
Or dress you up in shades of gray,
If that would give me brief respite
From empty hours each dreary day.

My shallow mind is drying fast,
Exhausted drops still wet my eyes;
The magic's never meant to last
Beyond a dozen long goodbyes.

So bring a kleenex to the show,
And I will cry romantic tears,
Then take me home, and off you go
To waltz away the endless years.


--Megan Morris, meikundayo@yahoo.com