... 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

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,

From Zimbabwe

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




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