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.
Like this:
Like Loading...
Related