Boston University - HUB Yearbook (Boston, MA)

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,,,,.,..1--:- Douglas I. Parke New England Villanelle Scituate, 1964 The falling snow like sculptured silver leaves that stop first on my cheeks and in my hair is falling on the part of me that grieves. The bare tree with its twisting branches weaves a tapestry of night's most chilling blues and falling snow like sculptured silver leaves. The icicles that hang from cottage eaves like delicate stilettos, with the snow are falling on the part of me that grieves. The blackbirds hover in the air like thieves with nothing left to snatch up in their beaks but falling snow like sculptured silver leaves. The cold goes down my boots and up my sleeves but no more chilling than those drops of ice falling on the part of me that grieves. Yet something in my ice-burnt heart receives a message from the cluttered warmth of spring- while falling snow like sculptured silver leaves is falling on the part of me that grieves. Margery Cooper CLA '67 An Old Man of the Valley It is more the mountain shapes, he said. I could move away, except for them, people have a way of changing, but the mountains stay the same. Behind you there is Equinox, and on beyond is part of Killington, but only when the winter is in profile. The hazy tiger kitten to the east is Greylock, with the granite back. Toward Anthony are meadowlarks and fields that lead down to the valley: steeples, smoke and on the facing hills are Colgate's cows. Those cows were there the day I first looked up from town-the same ones, I suspect, as now- but, no, that's an old man sounding oldg cows change, like people. I came up from town for air and new light on the mountains, but new outlines would have been too much. A peak takes years to know. Alice K. Armstrong CLA '66

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