Feb. 16, 1973 Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

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Ron (dedicated wholeheartedly to my sister Mary Jo)

Assuming his outer facade like an overcoat,
He rides toward another young heart.
Some will say his felicitations
Are harmless flirtations.
And some will be hurt.
Love has a funny quality
It is not felt by all in the same way
We are all lovers
We are all in love
He says he loves
As his silver heart-sickle decapitates
The strands of true relationships.
Standing away from the crowds
Taking in all he observes
He will love a little more.
And a little more.
And a little more.
Someone else is waiting around the curve
Although she holds no gold stars
She probably means the same.
He holds these nameless girlfriends
Like a card player with a straight flush
Only he'll always pick up an extra card.
With him, love never gives up
It just has to wait a long while.
He'll get back with her
But she can't depend on him
No, she can't be dependent, he'll say.
The trouble is, nobody can depend on him
The trouble is, 
He loves too much.

1973

copyright 1999-2005 by Michael F. Nyiri
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