Little Cupid

It's a poem about, Cupid.. It was written for the Valentine holiday.

Little Cupid
Here we are to take a walk;
here we go to make much talk.
Birds sing the song of love,
while we listen to a coo of a dove.
While sonnets and poems are being wrote,
and lovers kiss in a boat.
An arrow swoops by,
no place to hide.
It feels like springtime,
and everywhere is fine.
Could this be a trick,
or an arrows first prick?
Some say the archer is stupid;
however, that is our little cupid.
© by Maria 2007