For decades, Helen Thomas asked
Questions that made Presidents wince.
In the White House Press Corps she basked
In what was once groundwork for gents.
Each Prez press brief, she'd start and end.
Each Prez at the mercy of her
Belief that she was no Prez friend.
A fiesty force, for sure, for sure.
Grandmotherly with nerves of steel,
Term by term, she gained her own fame.
Across from the nameless Prez seal,
She had her own chair with her name.
As Presidents did come and go,
Helen Thomas in the front row.
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Comments about this poem (Helen Thomas by Ima Ryma )
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