The Gift of Eros

The Gift of Eros Aloft flies Eros; mischief fluttered wings With silent rustle whisper overhead By arrows pierced; the hearts of knaves and kings The chilly grave, the restless lover’s bed Blue London air, red Piccadilly light Above the shifting crowd and constant noise In summer heat, in neon and the night He aims his slender bow with perfect poise Aloft flies Eros; underneath his feet As shadows of the Circus slowly shift I contemplate my own love, bitter, sweet The wound that Eros wrought in me, the gift And as I turn my tears up to the sky A pigeon drops an arrow in my eye by Gail