Mary Lennox and
Her red-breasted robin
Went for a walk one day
To find the secret garden.
Mary, Mary, quite the contrary
Disagreeable, surly, womanish thing
But even little Mary looked a little bit pretty
As she went in search for the secret garden.
The sprightly little robin, twittering about
Led her to a fresh-looking dug up mound
And right there dirt-crested was the hilt of a key
Lost for ten years, could it be, could it be?
So Mary Lennox and
Her jolly beady-eyed robin
Blew away the matted ivy
And entered the secret garden.
Oh, what magic, what sweet-smelling things
A quite alive garden in the budding spring
Green pointy things in the weeded out patch
Mary Lennox, and her garden alas!
The white root onion-looking stuff
Are bulbs, said kind Martha with her talk and fluff
And come quaint spring, in the windy moor
Snowdrops will bloom in thousands for sure.
So Mistress Mary, quite less contrary
Tended to her friend the red-breasted robin
Who lived in a nest on top of a rose tree
All the way up hidden in her pretty secret garden.
© 2020 Veronica Lejano