Central High School - Mirror Yearbook (Birmingham, AL)

Page 31 text:

Again, again, I seem to hear j The liquid notes of a dream-song near, Rippling and trippling the waves come on, Joyously gurgling o'er corded stone; Echoing the melody whispered at night— By the stars that twinkle so gladsome and bright. And the hurrying wind with its crooning low, And the twittering birds math the moon's soft glow— Echoing the plaint of the whippoor-will. And the call of the night-bird keen and shrill. And the moan of the willow (forsaken of trees), And the dark, drear days when nature grieves; Echoing the patter of spring-time rain; Echoing murmurs of age-old pain; Weaving them all in a wonderful song, (O. the wonderful melody «»f the song of my dream!) —Vivian Slaton, 13. WILL YOU MISS ME? We’sc goin’ ter move! Least, so Ma said, En 1 won't be hcah entiy mo' Fur you t’ call me “Tanglchead.” We is goin' ter move, We’se almos’ done moved now, Fur de things, they'se packed En de po’eh it‘s packed Wif everything, 'ccpt th cow. Wen you come to play You’ll look Votin' en say, “Where's Tinkle? en I'll be gone! We’ll all be moved Far off tz wc kin go— En th house’ll be locked, En th corners’ll be stocked Wif spider webs, all in a row! Esc all time liked to live by you, But don’t matter now, ’Cause we’se already sold our chickens E11 goin’ ter sell our cow. Yer won’t see me in a long, long time En yer can’t never come— We’se goin’ ter a farm Wif a horsie in a barn. I ain’t askin’ but—won’t cher miss me some? —Lena Kcllog, '13. ?f)

Page 30 text:

OLE BLACK JOE AN’ THE MULE. Git up lerc. you lazy ole mule. An’ don't stan dere lookin' like a fool. An' don't you wiggle deni years at me ’Cause dis here whip can sting like a bee. Dis ole haid am turnin' gray. An' here's a mortgage 1 mils pay. An’ you, ole mule, will leave me soon F.f we don't work bv the light of the moon. Dese ain’t the days of the ole plantation When we wus the happiest things in creation. When you wus jes' a lil colt An' on your back I tried to bolt. An' you did roll an’ kick an' jump. An’ bust my haid up 'ginst the pump. Mos’ folks think dat it’s a joke. ’Cause a nigger’s haid ain nc er been broke. 1 wish you'd hurry up a lil . An’ git these things to Massa Bill An dogged if it wouldn't be jes’ our luck For him to get a motor truck. Now ef you wants good corn an' hav. You kaint stan' roun the whole long day. So 1 wish you’d burn up a lil'. An’ git these things to Massa Bill —Solomon Garden. 13. A REVERIE. I close my eyes and wistfully dream Of a winding road by a winding stream Gilded bv the sunset gleam: And of willows that droop by the water side. And the tall, stern oaks in majestic pride. And the whisp'ring elms and the poplars gray To the old warped mill with its rotting beams. And others that shade the lovely way That guards the silvery, singing stream. (O, the lilting melody of the stream of my dream!) There are cool gray rocks and the old mill wheel, And the pond above: and I seem to feel The soft, damp mist of the water-fall. And the rushing thrill of the water's call: f (O, the deep, sweet mystery of it all, the water s call.) 28

Page 32 text:

AIN’T NOTHIN’ GWINER HURT YOU. Ain't nothin’ gwincr hurt you. You blessed angel chile. While mammy's near her baby, Fer to watch her all de while. Don’ you kno' jes‘ how I lubs you Wid all oh my ole heart. An flat I’d kill dose spookies I f to’rd you dey start ? Don’ you kno’ de shinin' angels Is a-watchin’ from above, An’ dat God'll alius keep you, Lil’ baby, in His love? So close ye eyes, my darlin’. While mammy sings to you, 'Cause ain't nothis’ gwincr hurt you If you’re alius good an’ true. —Ruth Gregory « « « « THE SMILE. Before the wild blast of the wind as it's past The strongest of trees often die; They crash and they crack, within its wild track And the giant oaks tremblingh lie. But far down beneath in the wind’s mighty breath Soft flowers will bend and beguile; And when the storm's past and the rain's falling fast They lift up their heads and they smile. I’oets may sing of many a thing. Of the eyes' soft, laughing wile; I care not for such—duplicity much— Just gpve me a friendly smile. For the heart will oft tell what love knoweth well. And the eye may often beguile; But fallacy’s new to the smile that is true— So always for me just a smile. Ah! the words be unsaid—the cause be implead. But nevertheless all of the while. Though poets may sing of the beauties of spring— My song and my prayer is a smile. Friendly words often be deepest hypocrisy. And so I maintain all the while. Though tempting the sigh and the soft, laughing eye— The test of affection's a smile. 30 —Orville M. Coston. 'i