My Aunt Rosy-Fv
It was such a long time ago,
but I still remember the day
she came to live with us,
my aunt, a young widow.
Everybody called her Rosy,
maybe because she had pink cheeks,
her real name nobody remembered.
My sister and I became her instant fans,
not because she was such a beauty,
we adored her for the way she treated us,
she was so caring, so loving.
The reason I now understand,
she found in us her unborn children.
In the evening after she finished her chores
she would tell us stories
she heard from her husband, a soldier,
stories of the lands he had gone,
of the battle he had fought and won.
We could see a tiny drop of tear
shine in the corner of her eye.
As she told why the bold soldier didn’t return
a sense of pride flashed,
remembering her husband in those stories,
she found him come alive.
In the gleam of the twilight hour
her lively face glowed like a flower
in the crimson of the setting sun,
and aunt Rosy turned into a rose.
Her real name nobody remembers,
but then I ask, “what’s in a name”,
for a rose is a rose is a rose.
March 12, 2019
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