... a name to remember. Becca is an incredibly gifted and talented young writer from Ireland. Herein lies more than a mere poem -- 'tis a fine tale.. Enjoy!
THE DAY CUPID LOST HIS ARROWS
The Day Cupid Lost His Arrows
When the days are the greys of a black-and-white film
And winter clings to every tree;
When the sky is an ice-skating-rink for stars
And crashing wind toss crashing sea:
This is the time, friend, this is the day,
When my wonderful tale begins, they say.
Oh, it's February, and it's as dreary as school
In these short and meaningless hours,
When Christmas is gone and no summer in sight,
And no phone calls or candies or flowers.
These are the days when Cupid's at rest,
Waiting for summer, when loving is best.
Our Cupid arose in this dreary-grey month--
With its absence of colour and joy--
To his good friend Saint Valentine banging a gong
And begging his aid to employ.
So yawning and stretching our Cupid he rose
From his long hibernation and three-month repose.
He grabbed his bow from a red-painted shelf
And pinned his diaper on tight,
And he looked all around for his magical arrows--
But O, they were nowhere in sight!
Cupid, he searched for 'em high, near and low,
For without his arrows, where could he go?
But his arrows were took by some mischievous sprite
Whose name I shall kindly omit,
And Cupid collapsed in a state of despair
Nibbling his nails quite a bit.
But good old Saint Valentine came to his aid,
And told the discovery he recently made.
"Once," he said,
There was an elf
Who lived in peace
On God's high shelf.
But one day God
In wise words spake,
Gave this young elf
A quest to take.
He sent him down
To earth remote
To jilt young lust
And let Love float."
"Yes," agreed Cupid, "and that's all very well,
But what has to do it with me?
I've lost all my arrows, my amorous arms,
I'm facing the Dole, can't you see?
So please, Saintly V, won't you give me a hand,
And help restore harmony throughout the land?"
My dear young sprite,"
Val kindly spoke,
"I think you make
A lively joke.
You do not get
My wondrous tale,
Have you been on
The Val'ntine's Ale?
Let me once more
My tale make clear
So you may see
To have no fear.
When God sent down
This little Puck
From highest heav'n
To this old muck,
The fairy stole
Old Cupid's bolts
And played you all
For silly dolts.
Lust was held down
And Love let fly,
To Ireland's Eye."
When Cupid's spears
Were stole away,
Lust, it did flee
Two months, one day.
This is the tale
From God above
When all the world
Made do on Love.
"When Cupid Lost His Arrows"
Copyright © 2000 Becca De La Rosa
All Rights Reserved
©1999 - 2024 Mary Barnett / Moodesigns