Assault With A Deadly Weapon Poem by Mary Champion

St Valentine, your hit man, Cupid,
called and shot me with his arrow,
fired it through my common sense
and now I'm mad with love, demented.
And though not one to take offence,
I blame that chubby cherub for my plight
and so demand you act to set things right.
Some compensation surely must be paid
in recognition of the mess he's made
of my dear life, that was harmonious,
for love will end in tears. ‘Twas ever thus.