“My love is as a fever,” Shakespeare said.
Lo, I fear now at Valentine’s it’s come
a virus, spreading to confuse each head
and heart, leaving some shaken souls winsome,
some serious as plague. And here’s the crime:
Despite advancements in science for mind
and body, we plunge back to our Bard’s time
in February, losing all sense, grind
up reason to mere dust, feel romance’s
blazing consume our frames. Oh, the treason
of it! As night approaches and we dance,
the enemy encroaches -- vile teasing
we should repel and flee. Alas! Instead
we cuddle and kiss, then jump into bed.
Roger Armbrust
February 12, 2016
