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