The day’s preoccupation is with hearts,
For surely ‘twas St. Valentine’s desire
That, bristling with Cupid’s tiny darts,
Each heart be warmed in love’s rapacious fire.
Once pierced and cooked, if dart shafts still protrude
With loving hands it should be lightly scoured,
In chocolate and brandy fully stewed,
Then garlanded with ribbons, and beflowered.
And, if the heart yet beats, it must be soaked
For hours in a bucket of champagne
That done, it should be vigorously poked
To test its new capacity for pain.

(On all this St. Valentine would have insisted
If ever a Saint such as he had existed.)