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Mary Simple sighed
Her simple Mary Simple sigh.
It was September Twenty-Two,
With the sun rising in the sky,

And a gentle breeze that whistled
Through the trees on Mary's street,
Tossing butterbottle dandilions
Around her tiny feet.

The way the sunlight hit those trees
And danced shadows on the mossy grass
Carried such a serene beauty
Mary called its beauty painted glass,

Something fragile, something rare,
A something hard to find.
A beauty and a treasure of
The fairest, rarest kind,

A sweet reminder of
The summers gentle morning dew,
The kind of gentle summer dew
Found on September Twenty-Two.

The warmth of late September
Flooded through the clear blue sky,
And young Mary Simple smiled
As she slowly ambled by

Mr. Bucket's Popcorn Fields,
And Mrs. Bucket's Summer Pears.
Past Forber Johnson's Whistle Stop,
And all of his Ever-Better Bears.

She stopped when she decided
This was the finest time to stop,
And smiled wide with wonder
When heard a humming 'top'.

The parcel stone, that during wintertime,
Was covered up with snow,
Counted time so calmly,
The colors only Fall would know.

Mary Simple read the leaves
Upon the ancient Maple tree,
And giggled when she read so far
She had to cross a T.

A squirrel watched her cross that T,
But did not say a word.
And so it went about its business,
As though it hadn't even heard.

Mary's heart lept just a bit
As the breeze danced through her hair,
Soft as a dandilions kiss,
It lingered unaware...

But Oh, how Mary noticed it
Hush gently through the sky,
And though she tried to catch a glimpse,
She could not see it whisper by.

When she rounded Tortspun Corner
Mary could not help but laugh,
For there was Mr. Winton Thurmish
Talking to his spotted Giraffe,

As though he were explaining
The how and why and where.
But, alas, his friendly Giraffe
Simply did not seem to care.

Mary knelt amongst the clover,
If but to pick a few.
As a whisper swept the Allenfield
With an almost forenoon dew,

And she breathed in their silvered scent
And listened to the breeze
That sent waves rolling through the clover
And the winding willow trees.

She saw a new Whowuzzit
Crawl underneath a knotted log,
Where it played a game of 'You Can't Catch Me.'
With an old and spotted frog.

And upon the branch of half a tree,
She thought that she had heard
The faintest pitterpatter
Of an old Pineapple Bird.

The Tak-Rabbits played with the Butterbill Thrush,
As the Many-Eyed Itches, you see,
Spent all of their wee little time in a rush
To see who could climb up the down tree.

Mr. Dinn and his Irish Setter,
With monocoles in their right eye,
Tapped at their matching bowler hats,
When Mary skeetered by.

Mary Simple clapped her hands just so,
As she watched the rising sun.
"As adventures are," she rightly thought,
"This one has just begun."


Copyright © 2012 Richard D. Remler

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"Life is either a great adventure or nothing."
-Helen Keller
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