VALENTINE

With love, he signed the card, his shaking pen
Tightly gripped in fist of desperation
Driven on by dreams of wild elation
Tempered by a hope worn paper-thin.
She, the object of his heart’s desire
Walks in radiance, fair of face and frame
And, oh, if only she could feel the same
To higher joy he never could aspire.
Hearken, all ye Little Red-Haired Girls
A kid across the room is watching you
Almost sick with secret longing terrible
Life without your notice too unbearable
And you do not even have a clue
That Charlie Brown is even in your world.