Oh, don’t despair, my love, my dovey;
We’ll work all problems through.
The time is ripe for dovey-lovey,
And that means—me and you.

Bear up there, lass—of sixty-three;
Our whole lives lie before.
And look at me—I’m seventy,
Alone, bereft, and poor.

But we can write and we can read,
And we can reason clear.
We’ll find a way, we’ll do a deed,
To bring us much more near!

Then don’t despair, my love, my dovey;
We’ll work all problems through;
The time is ripe for dovey-lovey,
And that means—me and you!