Wrigley Field - 100 Poem by Ima Ryma

A hundred years old in the year
Two thousand fourteen - golly gee.
A seasoned soul of seasons dear,
The Windy City's gem you be.
Nestled away in the neighborhood,
Old fashioned bleachered, ivied charm,
Sporting the score that all is good
For any fan's long cheering arm.
Countless outs over innings done
'There's always next year, ' heard a lot.
And golly gee, what a grand run
You've made with all that glory got.

A century you have revealed
'The Friendly Confines' - Wrigley Field.