Classic Poem

My mother's name was Mary, she was so good and
true; Because her name was Mary,
she called me Mary, too. She wasn't gay or
airy, but plain as she could be;
I hate to meet a fairy who calls herself Marie.
Now, when her name is Mary, there is no falseness
there; When to Marie she'll vary,
she'll surely bleach her hair. Though Mary's ordi-
nary, Marie is fair to see;
Don't ever fear sweet Mary, beware of sweet Marie.
For it is Mary, Mary, plain as any name can
be; But with propriety, society will
say Marie; But it was Mary, Mary,
long before the fashions came, And there is something there that
sounds so square, It's a grand old name. For it is name.