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"Sweet Aphrodite!" They call out her name
In moments of pleasure, frustration or pain.
They speak as though they knew her well,
Or walked the halls where once she dwelled.
Foolish folk of modern times
Believe the gods were left behind.
Or worse, they think them nothing more
Than creatures of fiction, legend and lore.
Me? I knew her as a friend;
One who stood by me to the very end.
That is, of course, if an end could be
To the thing we call eternity.

Now, Venus, whoever thought of that name?
Goddess of Love in a word so plain.
Leave it to Romans, the arrogant pigs,
Turning redwoods into twigs.
If only Zeus were still alive
A few of them may have well been fried.
Yes, even Xena would agree,
On a lightening bolt or two or three.

Sweet Aphrodite, wherever you are,
Around the corner, behind a star..
I want you to know this bard recalls
More than just Olympian Halls.
I remember it all like yesterday -
How you refused to walk away.
But stayed and quietly called me friend,
Even believing it would be your 'end'.

It was a time of Warlords and Kings...
But it's dear Aphrodite, of whom I sing.
I'm just a bard but I knew her well;
So did the warrior whose tales I tell.
When the gods decreed that we should die,
There was one who dared to question why.
It was no surprise, to Xena or me,
That LOVE should live eternally.