Pearl
Sitting on a park bench
and taking in the sights,
she's always got an eye out
for the children, running
back and forth 'til they are wired,
while pestering their parents -
"Come on, Momma, we're not tired."
They cluster all around her,
they call her 'Auntie Pearl,'
to listen to her stories of
when she was just a girl;
tales of pinafores and mittens,
lovely hats for Sunday best,
patent leather shoes and stockings,
turning out so smartly dressed.
There were picnics and fun times
out by the river when they'd walk
two miles or more learning their rhymes.
Riding in a carriage pulled by
horses up and down the street,
calling at a neighbour's house -
there'd always be a treat.
Taking presents to the homeless
the day after Christmas Day,
helping those who didn't have much
food to eat, or games to play.
She told them, "Listen to your folks,
try to grow up big and strong,
help others when you have the chance,
your lives will be full and long."
One Saturday she didn't come to take her usual seat.
The kids all clamoured: "Where's Aunt Pearl?" she made their day complete.
Moms said: "She's telling stories to the angels now, it's true.
She loves you all, remember, she's still watching over you."
Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2015
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