Mary Mary

The silver bells you rang are brassy tarnished with the tears
Carillon once pealed with joy but now it tolls for me
The cockles that you warmed my heart a shell you’ve hollowed out
The occupation over you’ve become the enemy
And then you have the nerve to ask me how my garden grows
The roses that you plundered strewn on other love you found
Despite contrary promises you muttered in my bed
The pretty garden Mary made a lover’s dumping ground

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Author: thepoetautist

A Gay poet of fifty odd years who is currently living in Cambodia.

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