There was a chap sitting on a bench
in the Sunrise Garden.
He was but the lover of a lovely lass,
she was to pass in few minutes.
She is bound to do it,
as she does every Friday.
There was a lass sitting on a bench
in the Sunset Garden.
She was the lover of a lovely lad,
he was to pass in few minutes.
He is bound to do it,
as he does every Tuesday.
There was an old man sitting in
his chair on his balcony.
He wrote poems about them.
That they were in love is what he thought.
That they were truly in love is not for us to tell.