Daily
Eleanor Roosevelt, six days a week,
Wrote a column that many would read.
Since ninety-odd papers did carry her work,
She had all of the readers she’d need.
Called “My Day,” her writing described what she felt,
Where she traveled and all whom she met.
For twenty-six years she kept up with this pace,
Such a gig not too many could get.
Though I certainly don’t mean at all to compare,
She and I share that daily fixation,
But I’ve sixteen more years to catch up to her yield
And for that she gets my admiration.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
