“How do?” said she;
“How do?” said I,
In morning as we crossed.
“How do?” said I;
“How do?” said she,
No further words were tossed
In the evenings when we crossed.
For thirty years
We spoke just thus
Until one day she turned to dust
For that were all there was
In the morning when she’d passed
So, I said “How do?”
To no one there
And no one there said “How do?” To me.
And, now I consider the vagaries of my life
As to whether to still say “How do?”
When I no longer had the wife?