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Leaves

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
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COMMENTS
Lovely and so soft, Herbert. Very touching. Thanks for sharing.
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