There are those who say Lady Justice is blind,
but
how about little cupid whose arrows unkind,
shoot nimbly, pimbly, here and then there,
not
caring if couples match that he pairs.
That darned little brat, so powerful with his bow,
cavorting
around the clouds, hiding and so
spies then his targets...shoots her, aims at he,
taking
no heed of their apparent misery.
He takes then some stardust, sprinkles in their
eyes,
and
while they are squinting, tells them some lies.
He shoots a squirt of desire in their chests, making
them think
that
we are for thee and thee are for me,
and no one else could ever be.
Brazen,
the fellow dives straight into our hearts,
making no mind that we may be far apart...
he
plies us with promises, candy and flowers,
keeping us on the telephone for hours and hours.
And
does he pay the bills, watching them mount,
as we lovingly connect over days, months and years,
or
come to console us when we're drawn to tears.
No, that cherub thinks he's done his job,
not
bothering to check in and see who hobs...
and who nobs..
Me
thinks we'd be better off in the long run,
with a yenta matchmaker with papers all done,
looking
to see our signs in the stars.
if Venus triunes or squares with our Mars.
Maybe
little cupid had better get with the times,
get a computer, ask Ms. Fox, put in some signs,
let
her do the calculations, of who is a good catch,
then draw his bow and make a great match!
No
one need be the wiser and he'd get the glory,
for everyone would have a fairytale story.
of
how they did meet and there were stars in their eyes,
and it lasted forever with tenderest sighs.
So, If you run into a fat little elf, with wings
and a bow,
run as fast as you can unless papers he shows...
Until then don't think your time
is wasted,
unlike a cooked goose, you don't want to get basted!
Kay Ekwall©1997
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