Ode to Erato

Ode to Erato “Hear, here!” What’s this poppycock all about? “Get rid of St. Valentine’s Day… you say, — I say naught!” Brave Britannia, are we losing our faculties? I’d give my life for God, King and country, but to give up St. Valentine’s Day, “Preposterous!” A night with Erato is an experience like no other. Painfully erotic, overwhelming and barbaric, or tenderly smothering, so oedipal complex, as passion guides your heart’s desire in words. 'Tis to die satisfied, knowing the utmost pleasure. So, to this chicanery I say, let us sing out in an overture, from soprano high to basso low, with mid-range baritone in-between to fragile Eros’s joy in avoiding Chronos’s eye and follow Erato and not be dismayed by Thanatos, but have the sexes engage intimately and propagation of the species.