I am Cupid's victim once again.

A single glance and his aureate arrow

Is lodged between my ribs—

Dangerously close to my forsaken heart.

The crimson of crushed favours flows freely

While their scorning glances blame me

For my heart's disposition to love;

They simply won't listen.

It seems I am Cupid's only target,

For those I favour are inhospitable

When faced with my gentle tendencies;

They simple misunderstand.

To care deeply for another is natural;

To be cared for deeply, a gift —

So why is such love scorned?

They care not for those caught in the crossfire.

(Though, if required, for them, I'll burn my heart on a pyre)