by Becky Blanton
Mary, Mary quite contrary, I see your
garden growing. I thought it would end
when you were dead, But the madness is
With bombs, chambers, and shotgun
shells Cement sprouts from the ground.
And civilians are caught gardening, From
places all around.
Red rain pours down from all types of faiths,
And from machines of all kinds. The people
are still suffering. Time has changed no
Author: Becky Blanton
Major: English with emphasis in creative writing