I'm Not Sour.

Hi.

My name is Mary Lennox,

and I really am contrary.

So don't even ask me how my garden grows.

But somehow it does.

Silver bells

Cockle shells

Pretty maids lined up in some sort of row.

But that's not a real garden.

It's just a little rhyme that people sing about me.

If we're talking real gardens,

I guess I'll let you in on my secret.

I took a bit of earth.

I stole a garden.

It seemed dead to me.

But the longer I was there,

the more I realized it was wick.

Wick means alive.

Overgrown, yes.

But I'm clearing out what's dead,

the scritch-scratch that's been there forever.

And I'm making a space.

I want so much for something to grow.