Grandma had always
Told us about Aunt
Ellen Who spent her days,
During her spare time,
Since Uncle Tom’s death,
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), ‘
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)
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.