It's not Dear, dear, it's Deare.
der Brucer
The Wreck of the Mary, Dear
(Kenneth B. Cassell)
There once was a person named Mary
A lovely young girl from the dairy.
A mind without fear
A face fresh and clear
With bright cheeks just as red as a berry.
She went to the high school quite local
And went with an oaf, yes a yokel
Her values declined
With her sharpness of mind
As his walk and his talk became focal.
The oaf was a foul mouth-ed brute
Profane words from his brain he would shoot
Mary copied his cant
And when Mary would rant
The foul words came right out with a toot.
Now as Mary continued her tryst
Her friends did withdraw in the mist
For a mind that was clean
Had lost its bright sheen
With curses each sentence she hissed.
When Mary's poor parents tried to talk
Out of the room Mary did walk
With her words mixed with color
Her replies became duller
And were like the stench of a gym sock.
Her parents with might they did pray.
So touched, Mary saw through the decay
What have I become?
I talk like some scum.
And her life turned around on that day.
The oaf found another to taint
Mary heeded parental complaint
She read scriptures at night
Regained spiritual sight
And became a good Latter Day Saint.
Copyright, 1997, Kenneth B. Cassell All Rights Reserved.
KBC
APR99
