Mary
There was a man so scary
He was almost kinda fun.
I used to call him Barry,
That's unless he had his gun.
He ran a woodsy dairy
Well as I have seen one run,
And he'd tell us all of Mary
When the sky was full of sun.
"Of Mary, yes, be wary,"
That was how he had begun,
"Yes, she is very merry,
We must all her presence shun.
She's dangerously merry,
If you see her, turn and run.
"Remember strapping Gary?
He could split wood by the ton.
But Mary made him vary,
Now all he'll do is pun.
"Remember nimble Larry?
Coyotes he could outrun.
But Mary made him vary
Now he takes breaks in the sun.
"Remember dashing Cary,
To whom wealthy women spun?
Then Mary made him vary,
He says being poor is fun!
"How do you fight this fairy,
When you are only one?
This problem is so hairy
It's no help to have a gun.
To fight against this Mary
And later say you won...
The answer it is nary
But a rhyming riddle, son.
"'To query merry Mary,
You vat her mat or run.
To parry merry Mary,
You fat her catter's bun.
To carry merry Marry,
You rat her hatter--done!
To bury merry Mary,
You bat her brat or son.'"
Days later, something scary
Caught me in the open sun:
'Twas very merry Mary--
She danced through and over one.
And though her heart did tarry,
Soon as its tarrying was done,
It whispered, light and airy,
Something that'd much begun:
"To marry merry Mary,
Be at her patter's sun."
I whispered it a query,
While it listened, we were one.
It answered to the prairie,
Then it answered to the sun.
Like drinking down a sherry,
The little heart felt my stun,
As I married merry Mary,
There at her patter's sun.
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