The Valley of Love

Is there ever anyone happier
Then after a sultry late summer shag
When Cupid's wings are never flappier
To see in hearts his darts more surely snag?
I daresay that's what September is for,
Adorned in spheres of meteoric gold
And low hanging lunar glamor galore
Like some heaven Aphrodite controlled
To give frolic itself a tempered place,
A cornucopian sweatshop of love,
Boundlessly kinder than the rigors of space;
So like a rookery of death above
That I wonder if it is not true hell
And heaven...an equatorial dell?