It’s strange: the thing he likes, he hates.
But this is truth laid bare —
For much confusion yet awaits,
And may come anywhere.

And she — she is a paradox.
A mixture somehow pure —
And what she meant, or means, she is
But rarely ever sure.

It’s strange: they won’t, but then they will,
They can’t, but then they do —
I wonder at the two of them,
And I know they
Do, too