What maketh a man and a woman,
Cling together through thick and thin?
They care not whither they goeth.
They only know whither they've been.

What driveth a man to go courting?
Does the urge come from somewhere above?
Why must he act like he snappeth his twig,
Just because he falleth in love?

Does not his chosen one looketh,
And acteth so coy and so shy.
Just as if to belie, from the day of her birth,
She setteth her trap for a boy.

We know it was so with old Adam.
The first country boy, I've no doubt.
He strolled with sweet Eve, 'neath that old
apple tree,
And learned what it was all about.

I guess there will ne'er be a time,
When we understand all that we seeth,
For the name of the game is always the same,
And I'm glad that it always will beeth.

Howard Taft Palmer,
October 1971