Transit of Venus

Beauty pass’d my son quite lecherously
And she lost her clutch somewhere beside me—
Between calmly and treacherously.

Beauty lost my heart that night like a star
And she said it was in her clutch, for sure—
Clutched in a bag she bought at some bazaar.

Beauty was wet with Pusseidon and charm
And she couldn’t dry off without the bag—
She swore she had left it under her arm.

Beauty, she is forgetful, so never
Let her mind you your Love or you’ll lose it—
Beauty, she is so fretful but clever.