adventures in dysthymia

Sunday, February 12, 2006

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

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