Four Aunts
Frederick Buechner
Aunt Fan had the purr of a duchess, a mole's little eyes.
If something dismayed her or caused her surprise,
She wriggled her fingers in front of her nose
Like roseworms defending the heart of the rose.
Aunt Greta's eyes were glacier blue, her hair cobweb thin,
She raised Shetland ponies, had a taste for gin.
She could stare down a bishop, outswear a groom.
If your views didn't please her, you were sent from the room.
Aunt Esmé died young. How on earth could it be?
She was jolly and strong, the mother of three.
But once under ether something went wrong,
And too soon they forgot her like the words of a song.
Aunt Trixie's voice was sharp as a pin.
Her malice was gratis, she sinned just to sin.
Struck dumb by a stroke, she spoke never again
But each time she broke wind, clucked for joy like a hen.
