Far flung repertoire
Deep in her reservoir
Of countless hooks
And endless books
Mary,
Mary quite contrary
How does your garden grow?
She's got a small garden in her
house
A simple stone
A ripple, a drone
Poised like a cliff
Catch her riff
Not an oracle
Nor even a miracle
Not a human bomb
But somewhat calm
She always responds
I have no crown
But I'm merry
And contrary