Happy Birthday, Valerie

I remember her well, from when I was young.
I loved her so strongly, from toes up to tongue
and then up to hair, and back down to her lungs.
There wasn’t a part unadored or unsung.

This girl was my first, but she didn’t care.
In fact, you would think that she wasn’t aware.
Yeah, she wasn’t aware, you could say, if you dare.
It was like she’d not see me, if I was right there.

Valerie never took to my flattery.
Fact is, she never knew me.
She never even knew me.
But Valerie, if you ever hear word of me
and seek something Jon Bergery,
here’s where you can find me:
right here. Right here. Right here…

I would have said something, had I but the chance
to prance in her presence and ask her to dance
or to chase her quite chastely and make wild romance.
But I never got near her. I kept wide dis-tance.

She lived in the West while I lived in the East.
She was worldwide. I was not, say the least.
Though in thinking of her, I have never quite ceased,
I eventually saw our love ’twas not to be-est.

So though, Valerie, my lovely Ms. Bertinelli,
if you ever find yourself near me,
it’s OK to call on me.
Just call on me.
Valerie, if you come to NYC
and you want something new to see,
I will do it with glee.

About Jonathan Berger

I used to write quite a bit more.
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