For me, two mothers aren’t one too many:
One’s for real, and one’s for other things.
Remember: there are those who haven’t any,
Missing their one chance at angel’s wings.
You’re the one most free to mother me,
Giving without worrying I’ll be spoiled.
Often my real mother “has to see,”
Dreading I might get my future soiled.
More than just an aunt, what’s in your heart
Opens doors within where I can go
To learn the difficult and gentle art
Happiness embraces those who know.
Each moment that you love me makes me whole:
Rare is she who can so grace a role.