Her name is Marie, his name is Pierre
They gaze at a garden so bleak and so bare
A garden that once was so lovely and fair
And he sighs as he dries her tear-dimmed eyes,

"Don't cry, cherie,
Your garden will bloom once more
The fleur-de-lis will rise again
And smile up to the skies again

Let's try, cherie,
To make our garden lovelier than before
Don't cry, cherie,
After all, our hearts are free,
If I'll have you and you'll have me
Our garden will bloom once more...!"