Gothca !
Tingly skies full of surprise oh how I love when with surmise,
the little rascal aims his dart as if it were, poetic art !
But as time passes. Cupid indulges
In drinking spiced nectar
He must improve his aim.
How many arrows does he fire,
Speeding into the hearts of random humans,
Trying to make them love?
And what does he get in return?
Does any lovely wench flutter her eyelids?
And give him that come hither smile?
Life can be very cruel!
Now less wise and dejected, his arrows blunt,
He aims at random and sends ripples
Of love among the young, who
Ape his image on romantic cards,
Full of red roses, and equally crimson hearts,
With lovers kissing, or cuddling bears,
Eyes starry and glazed, and poetry sweet,
And borders of vine leaves that entwine
And call his feast "Happy St Valentine".
Once Cupid hit me in my ear and I fell madly in love
With a beautiful shapely nymph.
When cupid's arrow aims for you,
there isn't much that you can do!
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