My Uncle-Aunt Irene
'Advice is what we ask for when we already
know the answer but wish we didn't.'
I really should not tell you
About my Uncle-Aunt Irene,
Who insists she's a relation
To the Royal English Queen.
He says that she's the legal heir
To a Castle in the way-out there
Where Dukes and Ducheses cavort,
And Kings and Queens with means hold court.
My Uncle-Aunt, I must confess
Hails from my father's other side,
His half goes back way, way before
The Wimblebauchenhauser War,
In that nation where the rivers run,
Where the silken bobble-threads are spun,
Where their currency is Writtle Rock,
And it's always seventeen o'clock.
My Father says she was a teacher,
The son and daughter of a preacher,
And that her parents raised him up to be,
The Uncle-Aunt that I now see.
They raised her with a royalness
Where fingers point and eyebrows rise.
They raised him with a certainty
She has two very royal eyes.
And my little sister wants to be
In their lap of luxury,
When my Uncle and my Aunt Irene
Insist we respect their fair nobility.
My Uncle-Aunt Irene, you see
Was raised to relish royalty,
To walk with a regal, royal flair,
Should she wander here or there.
And who would I be then to say
Life did not craft us just this way?
We're kind of lucky, I declare.
Families like mine are rare.
Copyright © 2013 Richard D. Remler
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