He Would Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

It was so very long ago,
youthful cognition hung below,
he liked the very thought of her
and loved the tiny taste she'd shared.

A clever note it was, or so he thought.
Today he cringes, almost cries
it said for her to slip a little note
beneath the door into his room,
and gave the number of his boarding house.

P.S., it read, in place of paper it would do
if she, herself slid underneath the heavy door.
He'd even widen it to suit, of course. Of course.

Today, he would not hesitate
to build
a whole new house
for her,
forget the door,
the notes
and all
that youth entails,
and how it fails,
he'd carry her,
with measured steps
up fifty thousand stairs.

And leave behind
all other earthly cares.