Said Apollo the God

To the belle, Aphrodite,

“Come hither, my lovely

And take off your nightie.”

“Oh no, Sir”, said she,

(the advice of her mother)

You’re a hunk, that I know,

But I’m seeking another.

 

He’ll be tall, he’ll be fair

And more handsome than you,

(Who sits this mountain with

Nothing to do).

He’ll draw portraits all day

And compose on the lyre,

With a figure to die for

And kisses like fire.

But it’s eons B.C  and I

Have to discover

A single male person

Resembling this lover.”

 

Sweet Aphrodite

Set out on her quest

But no human or god

Passed her rigorous test.

She travelled through Tartary,

Turkey and Spain,

Togo, Jamaica –

The men were all vain.

She went to Peru,

But the the men were untrue,

And a diet of buffalo

Ruled out the Sioux..

Women were servants to

Indians and Medes,

And the muscular Swedes

Couldn’t cope with her needs.

There was nothing much going in

Vietnam or Gaul.

In Nepal, so it’s said,

She found no one at all.

 

In Italy she had no

Great expectations,

Though, be fair, Italians are the

Best dressed of nations.

But lo! In the Marches of Italy,

Well, quel surprise!

On a soggy, wet day with

Mud up to her knees.

And after a search for

Milleniums of years

She’d found what she looked for

In joy and in tears.

A visit to England had been

Soundly rejected.

“Good gracious,” she thought

“This is quite unexpected.

I thought they were boring,

Standoff-ish and plain,

And the country was shrouded in

Fog and in rain.”

 

Well………………..

 

He drew hippos all day and

Composed on the lyre,

With a figure to die for and

Kisses like fire.

He told endless stories and

Laughed far too much

But she curiously responded to

Laughter and touch.

 

And now for all goddesses

It has been written:

“If you’re wise you’ll discover your

Lovers in Britain.”