Oh, silly, solemn, lovesick Muse Wherefore do you wander Without giving me cues? You must come forthwith, help me ponder and conjure Not fish stew or cabbage or salamander But tremors of passion and amorous rhymes. Inspire my thoughts for St. Valentine’s.
Wooing, cooing, and otherwise doing Cupid’s work with his confounded arrow That pierces the heart deep into the marrow. A wound that won't heal No more than boys’ lust for an automobile.
Love conquers all, Virgil famously said. Caesar won Gaul, Anne Boleyn lost her head. For lack of a son “Now you’re done!” Henry said.
Muse, I don't hear you Hope you don’t have the flu. I'm not calling Euterpe, Thalia or Terpsichore, No, Erato’s my lady, named for Eros, not war. Love and love poems fall in your bailiwick So fly to me, Precious. It’s urgent, be quick!
Of arms and the man I’m not singing tonight Paradise is still Lost— it is nowhere in sight. To Goethe and Dante, Mallarmé and Shakespeare You whispered and murmured softly in the ear So succor me now, lend me words I can pen Please don’t forsake me, help me scribble again. My love, how to praise him, How to describe The joys of our journey I want to transcribe. Erato, your silence is hard to endure, No lyrical stanza, no euphonious verse You’re wayward and fickle You’re being perverse. Alas, you have failed me, I don’t sense you near. Too late for this Valentine, Hope to see you next year.