Little Marry

Little Marry

Little Marry—cutest fairy—
Yawn, it’s time for bed.
Brush your teeth and say your prayers,
You perfect sleepy head.

Heed your mommy—on your tummy—
Place your hand she said.
Snuggle tight and say goodnight,
So off to dreams you’re lead.

Silly verses—wicked curses—
All your fears have fled.
Move your hand and watch the brand,
And startle as it spreads.

Little Marry—rebel fairy—
Fill the night with dread.
Stomach gills and organs spill,
You, stupid girl, are dead.

So the quick story behind this one is that I almost always sleep with my hand on my stomach. I have no idea why. Well, late at night I started thinking about that, and that lead to, “What if my organs fell out if I didn’t sleep like that!?” which lead to this poem.

Goal was to do something like a skip-rope rhyme. No reason other than why not?

So there ya go.


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