We wither under love’s beckoning call,
assembling like toy soldiers
against its swath to fall.
Reasoning takes flight
when love comes to call,
with lowered defences
it scales our castle wall.
Resistance is hopeless
when cupid’s arrow has struck.
We just fall in line
and pray to lady luck
that this love calling
has no spattering of pain
that only joys of happiness
it will bring again and again.
16 July 2008
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
D, that is an excellent analogy and excellent content and flow. It seems a little different from your usual style - which I always love of course - and it works. Big time. t x