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Aunt Mary

By John I. Blair

From Missouri on the phone
She sounds fresh, alert,
Filled with spunk and love;
You’d never guess she’s 98.

She speaks of World War I;
Great Uncle Hugh in Flanders, killed;
Grandma’s and Aunt Fannie’s tears
Beside the morning glories.

Her daughter, husband, gone
These several years;
Father, mother – faded photos;
Sisters, brothers – painful losses still.

Yet she shrugs off the hurt,
Always says how thrilled
She is to hear from me,
Laughs, seeks news, tells stories,

Will not give in to age,
Will not abandon life,
Will not be limited
By mere weak flesh, old bone.

©2010 John I. Blair

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