As I stroll along the rock-strewn road, down by the moor, my heart keeps its beat with the heavy surf of the shore. Valentine’s day is coming fast, and I don’t have a bonnie lass. I do have my eye on the redhead named Rosemarie, but, when we pass, she never takes notice of me, she is my pie in the sky!
As fate would have it, the annual Saint Valentine’s horse race was set for the next day, and in my barn, I have a young gelding, by the way. Every Irish family in our town always went to that event, knowing that Rosemarie would be there, made my heart race like a march hare.
I wasn’t late at the gate, it was a typical Irish mourn, the rays of the Sun shining upon the moor made them look like gray slate. She was was there, out of the crowd, I spotted her strawberry red hair.
At the sound of the whistle, we took off through the thistle, towards the moor, by the shore, muddy ditches splattered my riding britches. My gelding was snorting great streams of steam, his muscled neck wet with sweat. As we crossed the finish line, a huge cheer broke out, the losers began to pout.
As I dropped from my saddle, someone gave me a little paddle on my rear, startled, I turned to see, it was Rosemarie. She whispered in my ear; meet me in one hour, down by the windmill’s tower.
It seemed like I was waiting for a year, then, she did appear, sat down real close to me. She said; you’re my Pastor’s son, the first time that I saw you, I knew that you were the one. I tried to play hard to get, but,my pat your rump, made our day, wouldn’t you say?
My smile was wide as I asked her to be my Valentine this year, she replied with eyes opened wide; of course I will, today and forever my dear, as your bride.
