434: The Seven Days of February: i

Well met, fair interlude, February,
what will we find in your wing of the year?
We will associate love's reverie
with you. It's all we think of you, I fear.

But those who know no cherubs know a foe
who leaves them to their own devices, mute.
I don't think that's all you'd have us know, though.
But for what else does Cupid play his lute?

I'll listen closely for a different song;
for love, I think, can know more than one tune.
And if I hear it, I will sing along,
for, for that kinder song I'd rather swoon.

So call your full ensemble, let us sing,
and chase all of the music that you bring.