Poetry is my Valentine,
Descendant of royal bloodline,
We've toured Europe extensively,
And travel where the verse is free.
His words are always most divine,
He melts my heart, my Valentine,
Known for his exquisite timing,
Chivalry, and knack for rhyming.
He's acclaimed as a fine athlete,
Renowned for his most perfect feet,
Both fleet of foot and arrow's flight,
He's Cupid's rival, by birthright.
His lips are red as any rose,
Features distinct as Cyrano's,
While legendary for his looks,
Virtues extolled in countless books.
His word is his eternal bond,
As timeless as Youth's secret pond,
He stands distinguished, never old,
With silver tongue and heart of gold.
He's humorous and full of tricks,
And loves to recite limericks.
Some say that wine's his perfect pair,
In compliment of style and flair.
A well-dressed man, with cloak and staff,
Whom eulogies and epitaphs
Ease any mourner's sense of grief,
He's popular, beyond belief.
I've struck the jackpot, can't you see,
For I'm in love with Poetry.
I'm all for him, and he is mine,
Poetry is my Valentine.
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