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 bachelor’s 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,
And-we were wed-in the old-fashioned way.
