Happy Valentine's Day. Here's an old poem from Way Stations:

  In a rough-hewn four-poster
  the moody Puritan sleeps.
  Down the steep dark stair,
  slowly, a poor wife creeps.

   
  Under a heavy kitchen box
  there's a crust of dry bread;
  strong hands undo the locks;
  she goes out by the shed.

   
  The old redhead dreams on,
  kindly dawn slowly rises –
  he sees a fatherly sun,
  gleaming strawberry ices,

   
  and a justified Rome –
  while his wife, thinly wan,
  espousing dear freedom,
  succors an orphan swan.