For a girl with rosy cheeks

I didn’t know when Valentine’s Day was,
and didn’t need to. That day came and went
like any other. Now I know it cause
you’re perfect, dear; you don’t know what you’ve meant
to me, my life, completely ignorant
to Love which waters a lush Happiness,
as if my rose-like heart were pinched and pent
up in my dry yet sunless parchéd chest.
You have refreshed; you irrigate my heart.
You’re water and you’re sunshine and you’re air
that’s unpolluted: cool then warm. You part
the darkness of my isolated lair.
Now fertile is my chest; and a Love grows,
and now you are my Heart; you are my Rose.


Reid McGrath is a poet living in the Hudson Valley of New York.

Featured Image: “Perfectly Pink” by Barbara Fox

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