" When I think about romance, the last thing on my mind is a short, chubby toddler coming at me with a weapon.” (-Unknown)

To Cupid

Child, with many a childish wile,

Timid look, and blushing smile,

Downy wings to steal thy way,

Gilded bow, and quiver gay,

Who in thy simple mien would trace

The tyrant of the human race?

Who is he whose flinty heart

Hath not felt the flying dart?

Who is he that from the wound

Hath not pain and pleasure found?

Who is he that hath not shed

Curse and blessing on thy head?

(-Joanna Baillie)