Once, long ago, I fell in love; you see,
By art, my heart was cleaved by Eros' dart
(Thus, I was cursed!) - forever torn apart,
So once is one too many times for me.
As Psyche's sisters fell from up above,
Due to Venusian envy they'd conspire,
Possessed with insatiable desire,
So my demise came when I fell in love.
Is there no sweet ambrosia we may eat
to stay the sting of death (pray, we may cheat!),
or magical elixir we may drink
to 'ssuage the way we feel- the way we think?
If love is not pure folly, answer this:
Why do we die so nigh from Cupid's kiss?

Copyright (c) B. T. Stenhouse (ASCAP)/ProCity Publishing (ASCAP)