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My Aunt Sue

She was frail as a split rail with rheumy eyes

That surprised with their youthful twinkle


Which she sprinkled on all she could see.

Wheezing when she spoke, she poked fun


At herself for being beyond the pale and a

Little stale on current events but spent most


Of her time on line searching for the long lost

Love who had shoved her aside the day before


She was to become his bride. It mattered not that

She was not going to find him. the daily search


Kept her perched and alert for that glorious day

When she could say: “That’s him, and he’s still mine”.


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