Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With sacred spells and fairy bells
And dark dreams that I sow.

My garden grows within my heart
And deep inside my mind
No famine, flood, or plague can touch
The flowers on my vines

One row's planted end to end
With hearts I chose to break
With love and lust I stole their trust
I was their worst mistake

Another row is always green
It's jealousy, you see
Each thorny stem and withered rose
Springs fresh from my envy

Where two tall pines stand sentinel
I've left the ground unturned
And there beneath the shadows green
I place the ones I've spurned

A patch of childhood's left to rot;
The rest died long ago
Although I've tried so many things
Child's peace I can't regrow

The trees that frame my garden plot
Are withered, leafless guards
They keep my shadows separate
My weeds away from others' yards

I grow my flowers in the dust
Of memories and shame
Someday a few may see the sun
But most find only rain

The tears that I refuse to show
The world outside are shed
On this, my nightmare's garden plot
Turned to that rain instead

This hidden ground is where the souls
Of those I claim are bound
And for each one a flower blooms
Springs up through this cursed ground

Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With blood and tears and innocents' fears
If you really have to know...

She wants the body back, I can feel her scrabbling at the edges of my thoughts and twice I've had to re-type a line because she got at it. Oh, in answer to a question, this is why she's been afraid to write lately. She was so proud when she brought us all more-or-less together, and she can't stand the thought of us splitting without her say-so. Not my problem, though. Not my problem at all.