Happy St. Tuesday

He walked through the store with his eyes to the floor
The constant reminders, he couldn’t take anymore
The hearts and the roses and chocolates galore
She’s gonna be mad at me.

He doesn’t like being ordered about

Being told what to buy so she won’t feel “left out”
He keeps his heart guarded, he’d rather not shout
I hope she’s not mad at me.

He keeps his plan quiet, he keeps his head down

If she knew what was coming, she wouldn’t frown
He loves her and in his heart she wears a crown
Sure hope she’s not mad at me.

Without even a mention, he lets the day pass

Demands for affection seem shallow and crass
But with romantic gestures happening en masse
She might be mad at me.

Shamrocks replace pink hearts on the wall

His wife seems like the least loved of them all
But his love goes beyond the stores at the mall
Soon she’ll know what she means to me.

He chooses each blossom with careful attention

He bought the wine he once heard her mention
He rubs his neck, cursing the tension
She’s going to love this, wait and see.

She arrives at the church, not knowing he’s there

She thinks she’s attending a charity affair
At the thousands of candles, she can only stare
She’s definitely not mad at me.

“I don’t say what I feel, I’ll admit it’s a flaw

“That I don’t express love to the fairest of all
“This diamond is real, even though it is small.”
He drops to one knee, and takes her hand
He says, “My wife, my lover, my very best friend,
“Will you do me the honors of marrying me again?
“I hope you’re not mad at me.”

He knew by her tears the answer was “yes”

My, how he loved how she looked in that dress
As he vowed again to love her through worst and through best
He said, “Happy St. Tuesday, from me.”

© Bertha Grizzly 2012.  All Rights Reserved.  No duplication or distribution.