History of Sorts

February Fifteen, Valentine’s has come and gone. I wonder what have I done?
No flowers were bought, no cards were sought. Not a single word written down. You must think me a clown.
Roses may be red, and Violets may be blue, but I must look like a right Tulip to you.
How difficult could it be? The date is the same every year, you see.
Couldst thou forgiveth this blight, William Shakespeare might write.
But I am no bard. However, despite my forgetfulness, for you, there is always a place in my heart.
Make it up to you I will. Or your servant I’ll be better still.
But a servant is not what you are looking for. Just simply someone to open your door.
Although I am a day late, be my Valentine. Take this humble offer, please do not decline.