How thou become so cliché?
So full of consumerism
Thy men and women become bored with one another
No celebrating or showering of gifts
A marriage so dull like paint peeling off walls
Yet thy woman, thy man, believe they love
O what is love thou Valentine?
If not poetry articulated from thy tongue
If not serenaded by a group of doves
If not a dozen roses freshly cut
What is love?
Thy green folded leaf?
Thy morning tree upon thou sleeps?
Thou shall never feel the pulse of thy heart beat
Thy woman, thy man, believe in not
Thy man’s influence is not in thou
Did thou not put gifts under thy tree?
Did thou not parade thy streets in sheets?
Then why thou not profess thy love?
Thy just another ordinary day
Make love, make not
Thy man, thy woman, just in rut
But thou good men shall profess thy love
Not to thou, but to the world
So thou shall know on this day
Thy heart is mine and no one can compete
With my love