Struck Not by Cupids,
Majik....
Parisian eyes, watch, but do not see.
Archetier, loose your bow, ....For.
Wouldst, quivering gut, that stretched.
Render, sweet music, from your touch.
That, sad sound, of melancholy..... joy.
Rendered from, a lacquered rosewood.
Mastered, by .....those long dead.
That a bow, could chill a heart
Though, it fired.....Not.
An
Arrow.
Giajl © Jim Love