Mistress Mary Quite Contrary

Mistress Mary Quite Contrary

Mistress Mary, quite contrary, How does your garden grow? With cockle-shells and silver bells, And pretty maids all in a row. Mistress Mary, a woman with a mischievous grin, Didn't grow flowers or vegetables, not a single bean. Her garden, though strange to some, held wonders untold, A whimsical space, where stories unfold. The cockle-shells, glistening white, whispered tales of the sea, Of crashing waves and hidden treasures, for all who wished to see. The silver bells, hung from branches high, chimed with the gentle breeze, Playing melodies of faraway lands, rustling through the leaves. And the "pretty maids," well, they weren't quite what they seemed, They were life-sized puppets, with painted smiles that gleamed. Made from branches and cloth, with buttons for eyes, They'd come alive at Mary's touch, under the vast sunrise. Mary, a puppeteer with a heart full of glee, Would put on shows for the children, stories wild and free. Dragons soared through the air, made of sticks and string, While brave knights on painted horses, clanged bells and made them sing. The children, wide-eyed and enthralled, would visit Mary's domain, A world of make-believe, where imagination reigned. So, while some had roses and lilies, in gardens neat and green, Mistress Mary, quite contrary, had a garden unseen. A garden of stories, laughter, and delight, A testament to the fact, that different can be just right.