AUGUST 17, 1942
WASHINGTON, Sunday—Friday was spent largely in doing mail and seeing people! At tea time, Miss Barbara Ward, foreign editor of "The Economist" in England, who has come over here for a few months, spent an hour with some of us on the South Porch. I think it was a most profitable hour, because it showed us that in many ways it is hard in this country to get a complete picture of what is happening in other countries.
The censor has written me a very stern letter about my remarks on the weather, and so from now on I shall not tell you whether it rains or whether the sun shines where I happen to be. I imagine that it is permissible to mention whether it is hot or cold, and I can tell you with joy that it was cool enough on Saturday to take a walk in Washington with pleasure.
In talking with Mrs. Florence Kerr of the WPA yesterday, I learned one thing which pleased me very much. Among the WPA projects which have been closed down is the Braille project. However they have found hundreds of canteen utensils which have been dented and bent, but which under clever fingers and the use of Braille machinery, are now made to look like new utensils.
I have a delightful letter in my mail, which reads:
"Dear Mrs. Roosevelt,
I am sending you a copy of a poem two of us soldier boys wrote while in the Sixth Evacuation Hospital. This poem expressed the thoughts of every soldier whose loved ones neglect to mail the necessary letter. This poem is our humble effort to tell the people of the U.S. how we soldiers actually feel about our mail. If you can use this poem in any way to help the soldiers, we heartily give our consent. Sincerely yours,
Corporal ........and Private First Class...
Here's the poem:
What's the matter? Out of ink,
Or is your pen on the blink?
All I want is one nice line,
To let me know that you are fine.
It sure is nice to get a line
From some one that's so divine.
A letter a day in such a way,
Will put the spirits into play.
From an old friend, a letter is dear,
I hope I am making myself clear.
A letter from you I pine,
Send one when you have the time.
The darkness of eve draws near,
So I must close now with tears.
Remember me while we're apart,
Yours truly with all my heart."
I am sure no one will resist this appeal, so I need say no more!