Mary, Mary

Little Miss Mary,

Quite contrary,

Who are you to say?

But oh well, and

Perhaps I should

Have instead inquired:

How does your

Garden grow?

'Pleasantly,' she

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In the summer sun.

But she also says,

A grin fixed on

Her small face,

'With silver bells

And cockle shells,'

And we know

That they were

Placed there by

A dainty hand,

Her  miniature

Decorations carefully

All lined up in a row.

The End

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