Pure Cupid has his hands quite full
He knows whose heart I want to Steal
As my resolve does now congeal.
He and St. Valentine must pull
Some strings as I cound bleats and wool.
What can they do to strike the deal,
To seal forever my fair weal?
Penicillin? She’s allergic.
Let’s not try acid lysergic.
A serenade on glockenspiel?