Maybe, It"s Too Late Or, Maybe, Early...

Maybe, it"s too late or, maybe, early, It has not occurred to me for years, I resemble now Don Juan, really, Like a proper flippant man of verse. What"s the matter? What has happened, really? Every day I have some other chick. And I lose self-pity, willy-nilly, And defy unfaithfulness and trick. I have always kept my heart from simple, Tender feelings,   and I wonder what I am looking for in oh, so cripple Women, so light-headed, and so void. Hold me back, restrain me, scornful feeling, I have always been marked up by you. In my heart I have a chilly  steaming And the rustle of lilac, so blue. In my heart I have a lemon sunset, Through the fog I hear  someone say: For your freedom you will have to answer, Well, Don Juan, take the challenge, eh? As I take the challenge within reason, I  can see the same old thing I have: I must take a storm for  blooming  season And mistake a thrill for real love. That"s the reason That"s the way it happened. Every day I  have some other chick, So that I might always smile, be  happy And defy unfaithfulness and trick. December 13, 1925