Today is our 35 and a half year’s wedding anniversary. I very rarely write poems about this aspect o m life, because such poems are difficult. Real love begins where romance ends No-one can can live with the chemical madness of the first flush of love. Real enduring love is in the small gifts of kindness we give each other every day.
Nonetheless, this is the one day of the year when we can remember that weird and fantastical phase of falling in love.
I want share this little poem from my Salt collection I Sing of Bricks which came out just over a year ago. I wrote it because I had a beautiful pair of gloves, but then I lost one of them. What could be a sadder symbol than a single glove? Add this to the fact it was plum coloured and embroidered with beads and roses, and you will see why it’s a good subject for a little valentine conceit poem.
Glove
Because I love you, I offer you
this old glove.
Wait. Do not cast it
aside. It has held my hand.
Its soft felt embraced my fingers,
covered my palm.
Its partner is lost.
Take it to remind you, how you and I
could lose each other.
It fits me perfectly.
Keep it under your pillow.
Perhaps it will
reach for you in the night.
.
Angela Topping 
WordPress has destroyed my formatting. To read the poem correctly, consult the book it appeared in!