Love's Race

Love’s Race

Love’s a carousel, they say,

On which we men are forced to play.

We chase around, on bucking steeds,

Like knights intent on noble deeds.

Ahead the maids, with tossing curls,

Race out of reach despite our whirls.

The only way to catch a lass

Is snatch away a ring of brass.

Apparently, to win the race,

We must risk falling on our face!