To think that at my age a man like me
Would fall for such a blatant subterfuge
You’d think by now I’d know enough to see
The coming storm, tornado, or deluge.

That I of all men (purpose-driven, charged)
Should be the target of such arrows vile
Shot speedily from Cupid, who enlarged
An idle dream into a major trial—

It’s odious to ponder or bemuse!
Why is it I who fell so fast and faint?
So deep into the depths where all men lose
Allegiance to sound reason and restraint?

I would another man had been ensnared.
The irony’s that I’m the one who cared.  

© 2022 by Andy Pope