BOW AND ARROW
When Cupid draws his little bow
and, laughing, lets his arrow go,
the sensible will run and hide
yet fools like I oft times abide.
And then I spout these words of love,
as though inspired from above,
but every line is still cliche,
like candy on Saint Valentine’s day.
It can’t be helped, those chestnuts come;
‘twould be better were I dumb!
I lose what modest wit I claimed,
when Cupid’s arrow is well aimed.
So should I babble, remember this:
naught shuts me up quite like a kiss
Stephen Brooke ©2006
a bit of silly pastiche for the season