To Cupid

Day pushes night,

and dark night

pushes gleaming day

with dark shades.

Autumn follows Summer

and the winds

no longer rage

after the storm.

But the love fever

that torments me

burns in me

forever unabated.

I'm not the one

you should have aimed at, god.

Your arrow should have

had another target.

Go after the lazy

and amuse them,

not me or those

who love the Muse.