Once again it’s that time of year
when lovers long for a partner near.
By the end it will be clear
why I come to fear
this sentimental time of year.

Birds have flown south bound.
Snow’s falling to the ground,
just grey skies and slush all around.
Yet, lovers are abound
warm, cozy, and sound.

Making plans to be together
to escape the cold weather
for dinner and a movie or whether
whispering words as soft as a feather
to always be together.

Three years since past,
when you were mine last.
If only time didn't move so fast.
Despite being of a different caste,
we could have made it last.

We had plans for the long haul,
but you needed space, if I recall.
Who says time heals all? 
Well, I’m still waiting to get that call,
because I thought I was over you last Fall.

So, once again I ignore the lovers
with their significant others
rushing to get home under the covers.
I pretend it doesn't smothers
when old memories recovers.

I know you’re no longer mine
as I sit alone and dine,
working on my third glass of wine.
Shit, I promised not to cry this time
because you’re no longer my Valentine.