I don’t have a lot of talent,
And I own about a dime;
Still I’m not so full of envy,
For I ‘m rather glad I’m I’m.
You may wade in countless shekels,
Be content and witty too;
Yet I wouldn’t trade you places,
For– it’s obvious– you’re you.
I’ll not hide beneath the bushel–
Nor retire upon a shelf–
There is hope, and plenty of it,
If one sort of likes oneself!
by Ray Romine Monday, September 8, 1947
