Brownmoor School - El Alacran Yearbook (Phoenix, AZ)

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.s,,, A gale of golden laughter, A shower of silver tears, A sprinkling of bright colors Wherever she appears. Her eyes, a lovely blue, Her hair the softest brown, Her skin as soft as petals, Her garb, a pale, green gown. Kwtdq 764m '57 7 264015 Fence Purple peaks in the horizon, Sunrise on golden sands, Soft silhouetted Sahuaros, Sunset in desert lands. Desert moon casts its glow, Crickets sing in the brush, Tall iack rabbits scamper, The night has lost its hush. The desert, soft-breathing, peaceful, As the moon sinks in the west, ls a land of silent shadows, Of perfect peace and rest. Streaks of orange and red across a golden sky, The delicate outline of a church spire - Life in a silhouette - smothering the monotony of day, vast and exciting, brief but enduring. ln a church - Night, the madness of moonlight on gossamer leaves, sea mist mingled with the fragrance of blooming jasmine, the soft vagueness of the breeze in my hair, a dew-sprinkled cobweb, - stars with the brilliance of diamonds in a showcase. In a stream - In a tree - Night, a silent fantasy - the peaceful rhythm of a world in sleep. On the earth - gawg04mzw'57 Us pg A mirrored reflection. The shine of leaves. The sustenance of life. Mama '56 Night, vague and intangible - a soft velvet cloak Ina dark Co,-ner- Lightness through the darkness. Radiance of the colored panes. Saegafztm 56 7442: 264025 The song of the desert is a beckoning cry, the voice of the breeze over golden sands, the throaty rasp of a land delirious with thirst, arms outstretched, clutching at the fragments of life, trying desperately to grasp them. They call her barren wasteland and fear her swirling sands, they cry for water and beat her with their fists in rage. How could they know that she has longed for the life that water brings, that all she has, she gives to a desert flower, gone astray? How could they know that she holds the deepest secrets of past civilizations within her heart? ls it destiny that makes her as she is - subiect to the lashing winds and murderous sun? What morbid curse was cast upon her that turned her sour? With the passing of time a man came by with a dream and a hope and a vision of life - of a desert made fertile, with trees and flowers, streams and orange groves, and the laughing people of a new civilization. Now she laughs and scoffs at fate, and her song is the cry of a conqueror. fmu2foZmzaa'56 HMM!! Swiftly moving - She weaves her cloud patterns, This Goddess in flight. She turns the weather vane On the house top, glides from Tree to tree - Bending them like dancers. Often she is quiet and sleeping In calm repose, Only to spring up again, Giving no warning - Except by breathing the dead Leaves to life for a moment. She is Wind - This beautiful Goddess. Ffwf WJW 355

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I 744 'iawwz 'v,.Wm,' N I stand this day upon a threshold. I do not know what the tomorrows that are mine They say he IS Insane' WIII IDIIIIQ' Hesiiclhugeworld of his ow I can but look back upon the days and years But -1 II' that I have spent. Even as I stand here this day, the minutes that I try in vain to grasp, are slipping through my fingers, and I am left only - Memories. Is he insane or Far ahead of our comprehension? How do we know? For - Are we not in a world of our own? God, give me the strength to take the time who are we Io Iudge That You have graciously granted me, and let me Insanny? Spend it wisely instead of wasting it foolishly as , I have done before. So, when I stand upon the next threshold that Beckons me to the vast unknown called Eternity, I will be ready for that life with the knowledge That I have lived this one fully. SWM 20464 '57 7f Zoe Wodd flow' H H add '7 7. 7. I4 If you would allow - Wh Sh Id' ar k M cate W I would tell of the Jhatoio I2 di or Sa I was confronted familiar glow when I see you smile Why shguldpl worry. YI xiii' gllbobiem. and your eyes smile, too. WIWY 'lol be 9aY? unaware I If you wcgluldlallow - ' . . I woul te I of how Does it matter if they try, Thal Ihey loo . and fail in the attempt? Had a Pfoblem- I bl?:1gI:gd?hLL!IIsI saw You I ' f I1 , - . . VIE? gill gggeangxemptr The problem? as though you were wanting. one mess, Never an emotional moment An Uncomforlable feellng II you woUId allow - shall sit Upon mY Soul Experieneed by all- bIfI:hYo:I land I are I'Il not think of their feelings, :II SLI' gave' ,P Calmness is my goal. Tien - ee I e 50' ecame aware. I , VH not care about 'hem They too were made aware. nor help them find the light, Now - f , d I'II simply watch them stumble by, We are Hen S' The problem,- Solved. but - - - Could I sleep at night? some QW, '56 .lynn gamma '57 A12 V gp . .9 Can we excuse and condone war before countless mothers and fathers who have lost their sons IH the quicksand of war? Can we iustify war before God? It is dusk, and another ordinary day has almost passed when a delivery boy in his over-starched uniform hesitates before the wrought-iron numbers on your gate. The gate is still swinging as he punches the door-bell, then - Sign here, please. Uncertain, you reflect for an instant about the possible contents of the telegram, then you open it. Your entire world freezes about you as you read the final words - Missing in action. Almost instantly you are conscious of the mental vacuum that is forming from disbelief and hostility. Then slowly you begin to think of your son. A blond-haired boy iust eight, clad in a helmet and clutching a wooden machine gun, stands threatening his playmates who, with their own machine guns, are appearing, from the four corners of the front yard. Stay where ya are, or ya're going to get it . . . bang! then only a few years later - war becomes a reality.