I just received my 1936 copy of Dorothy Parker‘s “The Collected Poetry Of Dorothy Parker”.  Here I share the final poem in the book, a wry and timely piece, shining a succinct light on the ever changing attitudes of love and infatuation.  That gal cracks me up.  ~TH~

AUTUMN VALENTINE

In May my heart was breaking-

Oh wide the wound, and deep!

And bitter it beat at waking,

And sore it split in sleep.

And when it came November,

I sought my heart, and sighed,

“Poor thing, do you remember?”

“What heart was that?” it cried.