The Tardy Cherub

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Cupid snoozed—his alarm betrayed, Wings askew, his bow mislaid. Love showed up a moment late, Blushing, breathless, tempting fate. Turns out hearts still fell just fine— Even tardy arrows hit on time.

What Madness!

“What madness this is, to punish one’s self because one is unfortunate, and not to lessen, but to increase one’s ills!"

Seneca To Marcia, On Consolation, III

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