Darkness, unfailing, as
the wings of shadow part,
and love's eternal luster fades into
the bleakest recess of night.

Cupid's arrow may be too true,
perhaps a tad too sharp,
perchance it struck too deeply
or just simply missed its mark.

Surely something's gone amiss
with the blessed cherub's shot, for
in place of passion's tender seed
lies a rotted scar.

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