The Cherub

October 15, 2012
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Each year in the cold of February,
The winged infant takes to the skies,
Firing arrows of wicked intent,
Tipped with stone cold lover’s hearts,
Tender souls be wary,
He comes in the cold of February,

The Infant once felt pain and fear,
‘Til he picked up his vile golden bow,
Now when he comes once every year,
Desire is all he knows,

They perform his twisted, evil rites,
A kiss in the snow, or a true love’s sweet touch,
And under the guise of warm human fire,
He fulfills his longing need,
Tender souls be wary,
He comes in the cold of February,

The Infant once knew life and hope,
‘Til he sprouted his small silken wings,
Now when he ties two hearts with dire rope,
He stabs the heart and sings,

Tender souls be wary,
He comes in the cold of February.





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