Mary

Its poetry, what more is there to say? Just read it and find out.

~Mary~

Mary, Mary poor little Mary.



Barely conscious, feeling wary.



Shadows dancing, glaring glaring.



Crimson underfoot, streaming gleaming.



Branching for a singularly, absent grave for Mary’s Auntie.



Mary, Mary poor little Mary.



No luck with dirt, with a chore to bury.



Burning burning, weak little yearning.



Ashes ashes, dust dust, churning burning, smoke is turning.



Into the wind the ash takes a turn.



Away with auntie and her wrath and scorn!



And curse the day that Mary was born!



Mary, Mary poor little Mary.