Abigail: I live like a nun in a cloister Solitary, celibate, I hate it Adams: I live like a monk in an abbey Ditto, ditto, I hate it Abigail: Write to me with sentimental effusion Let me revel in romantic illusion Adams: Do you still smell of vanilla and spring air? And is my favorite lover's pillar still firm and fair? Abigail: What was there, John, still is there, John Come soon as you can to my cloister I've forgotten the feel of your hand Adams: Madam we shall walk in Cupid's Grove together Both: And we'll fondly survey That promised land
Till then, till then I am as I ever was and ever was And ever shall be Yours, yours, yours, yours, yours Abigail: Saltpeter, John
