Poems

Cherub

Oft have I felt the prick of Cupid's aimed
Flaming arrow of infatuation
And no more do I flinch at his barbed pain
But give him my daily salutation

For there came one January morning
Over a new lost love I sat mourning

I recognized the beat of his white wings
And did fetch my rifle from the mantel
Grinning like a devil when angels sing
Loading more rounds than his frame could handle

The cherub took his aim and I in turn
Squeezed the trigger with my heart as it burned

And took my trophy as proud hunters do
The head severed clean from Cupid's body
Mounted with love and care and gobs of glue
Smiling, upon the wall of my study.