Retort to W.B. YEATS

THE NOODLE who would tally love in fractions
will find in me slight negative reactions –
I’ll bet he’s yet another standing pisser
[with stubble sproutin’ daily on his kisser]
a heart is not some citrus grown in sections
it’s at a race course one backs up selections
parlays bets and hedges all around
[love gamed like this is better lost than found]
what? save a slice for later in the day?
this isn’t love;  it’s just erotic play;
     parsimonious types arn’t worth a fig –
     where love is freely given, hearts grow big

.

.

NEVER give all the heart, for love
Will hardly seem worth thinking of
To passionate women if it seem
Certain, and they never dream
That it fades out from kiss to kiss;
For everything that’s lovely is
But a brief, dreamy. Kind delight.
O never give the heart outright,
For they, for all smooth lips can say,
Have given their hearts up to the play.
And who could play it well enough
If deaf and dumb and blind with love?
He that made this knows all the cost,
For he gave all his heart and lost.

.

.

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