Leaves Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

I called them teardrops, knowing well
that they would dropp without a thought
on tablecloths and counters and on me.
Boys do not cry she'd say, one must be strong,
remember he stood still, our Wilhelm Tell,
he shed no tear nor did he blink as well he ought,
it was an apple that remained, though not for me.

It ain't the radio when it plays a schmaltzy song,
nor will the scenes of any film affect my soul,
but when the lyrics from red lips oozed Demerol
I knew that tears had been the downfall of it all.

I watched those movies where the lacrimals are strained,
and did allow a few to fall onto my chest,
for better views the lights had been somewhat restrained,
no one would know Commiseration was a guest.

I heard from her, which is akin to God's okay,
it made me cry a bit, please do not tell a soul.
Perhaps I cry when it's convenient and okay,
it's up to you, my love, to really make me whole.