L'aura del Campo

Oh, Mary... she waters her garden...

Merry Mary, Quite Contrary

She waters her garden — where she's planted her ex
midst pansies, white daisies, belladonna, bluets.

She'd sighed — do you love me — as they kissed one last time.
Now she's planted his bones 'neath fresh compost and lime.

Oh Mare, art thou merry — or merely insane?
Oh Merry Contrary — Oh Mary McCain!

You surely must know that they'll soon find you out
when the neighbor's old dog sniffs his flesh with his snout.

You'll make up a story how he left you betrayed
but those selfies will sing of the bed that you made.

Oh Mare, art thou merry — or merely insane?
Oh Merry Contrary — Oh Mary McCain!

© Kåre Enga [181.38] (8.juli.2024)

Lyric response to "The One-Line Lyric Challenge" 

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