Oh where is the tale of Mary Bennet?
Left among four beauties and forgotten
Always neglected, tears streaked down her face
Poor Mary Bennet, the one plain sister

“She’s the only plain one,” said Ms. Austen.
Mary’s fingers tap at the piano,
Still hoping others will fancy her songs,
Faced instead with raw tempers and anger.

But Mary shan’t be sad, so she
Will roam the moors, or wait inside,
Sit with books, look out the window:
Dreaming of a musical world.

Oh! Forever may she be free
From the bounds of society
Take her hand and fly away, or
Watch her play pianoforte

What splendid concertos she plays
What marvelous concert etudes
How I long to hear her sweet voice!
Shall we play piano duets?

How I love her dear brown glasses,
Her plaid and tartan dress, and her
Plain features that are owned by all
The masses, with hair dull and flat.

To feel left out and all alone
With no person to fully trust
And few truly believe in her!
Let’s hope that she shall not feel sad!

Vanity and pride are different things,
Though the words are used synonymously.
Pride is our own opinion of ourselves;
Vanity is what others think of us.

With pride, you loved to play the piano
Music is truly the love of your life.
So where is the tale of Mary Bennet?
Left among four beauties and forgotten