The Rosary Made Of Bones

Grandma had always

Told us about Aunt

Ellen Who spent her days,

During her spare time,

Since Uncle Tom’s death,

Walking alone

Through their garden

Whenever she wasn’t

Saying her prayers.

For prayers, she’d always

Counted on her favorite Rosary beads

And her old Latin missal.

‘What had been once lost by Eva

Was at last regained by Ave (Maria), ‘

She repeated.

When asked

How did she ever get a

Rosary made of someone’s bones?

She replied that they

Must naturally have been

Those of St. Philomena,

Or Rosalie, Or some other

Much revered saint of yore.

She knew better than to play

Pontius Pilate denying the truth.

Never one to wash her hands

Of what really counted in life,

Though a little enigmatic storytelling,

Of course, (Wink Wink Nudge Nudge)

Never hurt.

She’d keep us young uns guessing

About just whose relics the bones really were,

Never really admitting

Where exactly they may have come from.

That’s all a part of

The enigma of eccentric kin.

7 thoughts on “The Rosary Made Of Bones

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