Remembering Mr. Rogers

A Poem of Remembrance

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Photo by Volha Milovich on Unsplash

Remembering Mr. Rogers

Since Mr. Rogers closed his neighborhood door
Young hearts have been broken down to their core
He was an inspiration to children each day
In his own special inimitable way
He spoke through puppets in a soft muffled voice
Always expressing “Make your own choice!”
His shows were filled with magic and joy
As he instilled friendship with the use of some toys
His song “I like you the way you are”
Made every child shine like a star
“Won’t you be my neighbor?”
Kept children of all races in favor
“Daniel the tiger” was his favorite voice
So gentle never roaring with a loud force
On many shows he would say
“Everybody longs to be loved
and they want to be lovable.”
He said it clear in his Mr. Rogers’ way
How do you measure a person’s fame?
Is it saving someone from a fiery flame
Is it fighting a war with an enemy you blame
Or the catch of a ball in a baseball game
Are you not also famous because
You’ve set your direction on a life-giving cause
To give of yourself to open closed doors
And the constant challenge to give a bit more
Mr. Rogers used puppets to talk to the kids
Words that opened their cute little ears
Songs they could sing to rid them of fears
Stories to repeat for years to their peers
Who next will be chosen to pass life’s great test
Who next will stand out from the world’s best
Who has that way that talent that smile
To walk in Mr. Rogers’ shoes for a mile
That soul will be tested as if put on trial
As he or she rises with strength and with guile
To answer the questions this hero must face
While constantly moving at a fast-moving pace
History somehow corrects its mistakes
Replacing what it must eventually take
Who will be chosen to come through that door
To replace Mr. Rogers and what he stood for. …

An End of Year Poem

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Photo by Ray Hennessy on Unsplash


Gone were our daily ways this past year
As stories glared loud and true
We could have saved many deadly tears
If they only told us what they knew
We watched as lives were leaving us
Each day the numbers crushed
We tried not making much a fuss
As we wished please not name us
They promised relief was soon at hand
In ways not known before
It may take months to save our clans
As they rushed a Covid-19 cure
Our leaders throw us bones to pick
Their schtick we have known before
In hope that they have found the trick
So we soon can go outdoors
Until this horror ends and we
Can once again hold hands
I pray to he to please hear me
And save our promised land.

(A Poem from the Wolrad Collection #64)



WOLRAD the pen name of Mark Darlow, writer, songwriter, poet, invites you to visit his website at

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