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 on this mountain with
Nothing to do).
He’ll write poems 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.”

So the 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 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 wrote verses all day and
Composed on the lyre,
With a figure to die for and
Kisses like fire.
He told endless stories and
Giggled 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.”

(Robert “Tongue=in=Cheek” Hanrott)