Katherine Delmar Burke School - Works and Days Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

Page 33 text:

ENVIRONMENT Clang, clang, clang reverberated 'round the room, dull, measured thuds, each resounding with a ring. By the faint glow of smoldering embers from a pit the surroundings were vaguely distinguishable. Close to the edge of the pit a figure stood with firm legs wide apart, and in the blackness above the rest of the body seemed to bend-methodically rising and sink- ing-and with each descent the sound of iron against iron re-echoed and a few sparks, yellow, blue and White, flew out. Though the light of the fire was almost out, its reflections on the cold wet store walls showed the room to be round and small Qbut with a height that extended up foreverj-given over solely into darkness with its bats and spiders, creatures that are nour- ished in little hells. Suddenly the pounding ceased and the figure, turning towards the fire, raised an object from its side-the bellows. A moment later the fire leaped up, flames danced in rings, encir- cling each other in the bowl-like pit. The human form, the room and all its details were now clearly visible. There was a young boy, only a youth with close cropped golden curls, who stood kindling the laughing tongues of the devil. He was dressed in the innocent garments of a Squire, but by his side on an anvil lay a suit of half forged armor and not far distant was a sword, its un- scathed blade gleaming with a fierce wild shine. SOPHIA KENT, Ac. IV EXCERPT FROM THUNDER The wind blew cold, too swift to breathe, the sky was dark and dim and wreathed with sodden clouds of ashen gray and further, further, far away the army marched with subtle tread. Yet thunder followed to Wake the dead. The wind blows cold, but there's none to breathe 5 the sky is dark and funeral wreathed, the clouds are heavy lumps of gray and further, further, far away . a dove flies, lonely, wounded, scared at all that man has craved and dared. JEAN-LOUISE NAFFZIGER, AC. IV

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IN MEMGRIAM Barbara Louise Cook Academic II Doomed to know not Winter, only Spring, a being Trod the flowery April blithely for awhile, Took her fill of music, joy of thought and seeing, Came and stayed and Went, nor ever ceased to smile!

Page 34 text:

It seems there are so many ways of looking at a blade of grass. One man sees within the slender spear the love of God. Another sees the doom of man when he lays waste with war and hate the very life bestowed on him, and sinks beneath the tiny blade. Some say, As rock is rock and sea and sky are sky, so grass is grass. VVho can dispute? It seems a minute is a myriad thing. It is an hour or a second. Yet measured by water or sand shadow or hand, a minute is simply so long no more no less. A child is told that this is green and this is blue-he learns the name. But who can tell just what the essence is to him? VVell then our fears, our hopes, our joys, our hates, distort the very simplest things. VVhy what is beauty then we ask5 Is it grass or flowers? Is it blue or green or red? and we are told Beauty is truth, truth beauty- that is all ye know on earth and all ye need to know. ,ANNIE Si'5A1u.s, Ae. IV