Mary’s Garden Sonnet
Like the others I stand in line;
A cockleshell adorns my dress.
To look at me no one could guess
My slippered feet are made of vine.
We drink the springtime rain like wine
And bloom a vision of loveliness;
Pawns standing in a game of chess,
There beauty second only to mine.
One day Mary came to our garden bed
To trim our fingers and smooth our gowns.
To capture my beauty I’m cut at the knee.
My screams she can’t hear, nor can she see
The stem she leaves will turn brittle and brown;
The maid she saved for tomorrow is dead.
Rebecca
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