Strange, is it not? She was making her garden,
Planting the old-fashioned flowers that day
Bleeding-hearts tender and bachelors-buttons
Spreading the seeds in the old-fashioned way.
Just in the old fashioned way, too, our quarrel
Grew until, angrily, she set me free
Planting, indeed, bleeding hearts for the two of us,
Ordaining bachelors buttons for me.
Envoi
Strange, was it not? But seeds planted in anger
Sour in the earth and, ere long, a decay
Withered the bleeding hearts, blighted the buttons,
Andwe were wedin the old-fashioned way.
