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A HUNDRED GROUNDHOG DAYS

Inez, today,
A cent’ry would complete.
That is to say,
She had four years to beat.

So, what the heck,
She had a splendid run.
On shipboard’s deck,
She traveled and had fun.

But, that came last;
The struggle came before.
The South was past.
Up North, and twenty-four,

The New Deal had
Barely left the stable.
The times were bad;
Less food on the table.

Her mother lost,
Two brothers did she raise.
But, such a cost
Her own two did not faze.


The steady job
Her husband would maintain
An anchor fob
Was on the fam’ly chain.

Depression woes
Were weathered with élan.
North Philly’s snow
Was nothing like San Juan.

Then came the war,
Which brought a little peace.
Life offered more
To those who had the least.

But to her brood,
There hardly seemed a change.
The lack of food
Would have seemed very strange.

A long-sought home,
At last, was hers to keep;
No more to roam;
‘Neath her own roof she’d sleep.

As time went by
And people went away,
She said, “goodbye”
To Philly, one fine day.

The South, again,
Became her home once more.
There was less strain,
And life was less a chore.

Her final years,
Though pleasant they’d become,
Deserved three cheers—
She beat her own damn drum!

Discarding age,
With gusto did she fly.
An honored sage,
She traveled wide and high.

And, at the end,
When all was said and done,
Ne’er did she bend
Nor miss a setting sun.

She active kept,
And on her own two feet.
And, while she slept,
Left—at her own drum’s beat!