Moffat's Lament: A Clifftop Valentine

I’ve always rather fancied myself as the author of greetings cards, though I’ve no idea how to go about getting into the business. Is it a difficult industry to join? Are any sort of further education degrees required? By the standards of cards you can find in high street shops, it seems unlikely, so my lack of academic achievement probably wouldn’t be much of a handicap. But where would I begin?

Well, I decided to do it myself. I would write and design the cards and start my own company, small at first, internet-based. But like most of my grand ideas, time and money intervened and the whole concept was abandoned. I justified my own laziness with a new idea: isn’t it ethically irresponsible to manufacture greetings cards in environmentally disastrous times? Aye, whatever.

I mention this as an explanation of the offering below. This little verse was intended to be a Valentine’s card (it was originally called Clifftop Valentine) but the card was never completed, so I gift it to you now. Cut it out, copy it, post it or email it to someone you love this February 14th and if it works, you owe me a pint. (Ladies will have to copy it and change the gender. Obviously.)

A Clifftop Valentine

He deafens with his beating,

he defeats all other sense;

he’s howling for a meeting,

he’s screaming in suspense;

he clamours up the air,

his eardrums torn apart:

Can you hear him over there?

Can you hear my heart?