Valentine

To the one I love: You'll never read this, but all the parts of me, the ill, the fine, are activated, live new life every day because of you.
To old loves: I was a poor boy with little to give but that what sold you in the beginning, but I remember every woman that I convinced otherwise, and once in awhile I play the scene where it could have been different.
To those who have lost: A mother, a wife, a lover -- I'll take a moment for you all, and I'll thank something I don't believe in that I have not yet faced such.
Love: Is a hard pair of hands digging in the dirt to pluck the last green, and carry it back to the house.