This letter ... But she writes of Christian love.
What is that? It’s a most annoying habit,
A warm blood-teasing smile, an open look,
A recognition—thinks I to myself,
Boy, this is fine! Love at first sight! True love!
But then the disillusionment—by God
She turns the same look of those clear kind eyes
On a bootblack, on some fool behind a counter.
She calls that, Love? But what is Love to me?
Love; it’s a two-part game, I’d say, not merely