February, you sing,
as the smallest (month), together we ring.

I suppose it was only fair,
that I fall in love like this,
my birthday, and your holiday,
we always have to share.

Although mine creeps before,
avoiding the martyr of your Saint,
and I know that it still kills me,
as I patiently drift upon your shore.

Sweet twos, you and I,
together we strive, linked by the stars,
and I think, perhaps, my soul admits,
I'm never ready to say goodbye.