It is said that the magpie
Steals shiny trinkets. I
Am left pondering on why
At a single shot from Cupid’s bow
Some men go
Quite mad and embrace
The silk and lace
Of the lady Charlotte
Who, in her scarlet
Dress
Has led the fool and the sage
(In every age)
To confess.
Ere they return again,
To their pain
And Charlotte’s gain.
The May Queen
Is in her finery seen,
And many a staid
Maid
Will today
Discover another way
Through the dance, as Baccus and Cupid combine
In love and wine.
Is it rude
To call Cupid
Stupid?
How many girls brood
On such things
As they lose themselves in rings?
“His crisp white shirt.
Her short skirt.
The way they flirt
One would never know
It where so”.
“Know what?”
“That Cupid’s arrow was never shot.
She has sold
Her soul for Midas’s gold,
And the gods fortell
It won’t end well”.
Consequences hang heavy as scent.
To repent
Is bliss.
But oh, her kiss.
Those heels.
The way she kneels.
Venus has caught
All my thought
And brought
Me low
Where angels fear to go.
It will end in woe
For cupid’s arrows sharp
Penetrate the most unsuitable of hearts.
K Morris - Poet 