To the chancel of an Irish King's daughter,

In Bri's Beetle, Venus arrived.

We tied our knot where Saint Buriana lay

As the universe had contrived.

Our sun appeared just as the weatherman said,

Its second nearest planet flared.

While my Venus stepped into that sacred place,

With flowers platted in her hair.

Reciprocated, blindfolded leaps of faith,

At the altar, in a bubble,

This gift, that promise "we'll never look back".

Like a Phoenix from the rubble.

I never see them when they first enter in,

'Til they land on my toast or knee.

Or sat there on the rim of my flippin' cup

Or doing breaststroke in my tea!

But Venus leaps, table to sofa to chair,

Like D'Artagnan with her swatter.

Swish, Thwack, Slap, With panache and zeal..."Got him, Ha!

…That horrible little rotter!"

Humming, I put the kettle on, by the sink,

When Venus bounds like a gazelle.

Woody observes, looking bored. He knows the score,

Venus five, "Two injured aswell!"

A Munster Chief's daughter, Saint Buriana.

In whose shrine we commenced our life.

Me and my true goddess of love and beauty,

And intrepid trapper of flies!