I have a favorite Auntie, though she’s not family.
She loves every child, and we all call her Aunt Bea.
She never did get married, but we heard she had a beau.
She would smile at his name, as she whispered sweetly, “Joe”.
He went to fight in the war; she loved to tell his story.
How he saved his best friend’s life, with a single act of glory.
At church she always sat, in the very same place.
Her vast rounded back-side left an imprint in her space.
The kids would huddle ‘round, for Lifesavers and a hug.
She would pinch our cheeks and say, “You’re as cute as a bug.”
We would giggle, tease, and fight, for a smidgen of her love.
One time, Thomas gave a push, and then I felt a shove.
I plummeted head first, right into Aunt Bea.
I found myself enfolded, in the midst of her belly.
Tara giggled, Thomas laughed, the others stared in shock.
Tears sprung up, I felt the chaff, I turned away to walk.
Aunt Bea said shoo, the kids all left, she pulled me in real tight.
She grabbed a tissue, movements deft, she understood my plight.
I earned a seat next to her, was invited every Sunday.
She loved to sing and worship and I often heard her pray.
I watched her week to week, and loved her more and more.
As she taught me how to serve Him, church no longer was a bore.
I gave my heart to Jesus; she held me close and cried.
I had learned in Sunday school, about when Jesus died.
I never really got it, until Aunt Bea explained.
Then I understood the reason why my heart had felt such pain.
From that day on I knew, Aunt Bea she loved me best.
But never did she show it to, Thomas, Tara, and the rest.
Today I am a mommy, my baby I now hold.
I named her Beatrice; she will have a heart of gold.
A tribute to my mentor, though she’s not family.
I know she’ll be just like her, the one I call Aunt Bea.
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