Kingswood School Cranbrook - Woodwinds Yearbook (Bloomfield Hills, MI)

Page 29 text:

SOLILOQUY OF A FAILURE Now from the far-off hills I hear the hark And frenzied yelp of hounds, hot on the trail Of some elusive prey; while close behind, Their masters, brave in red coats, gallop hard. I, too, might once have ridden quarry down. But in my youth, the school room seemed more safe. So I stayed home, never daring more To do than study Latin, play at work, And wave to braver ones off to the hunt, And nightly listen, breathless, to their tales. Long years have come and gone, long years too calm. Since, fearing life, I chose the sheltered way, I wait, with dread, for age's fading years. Now, suddenly, I hate my quiet past And wish that in the time when I had strength I’d ridden over damp green hills at dawn Instead of staying warm, out of the wind. Harriett Cress MY SELVES I looked INTO space thoughtfully, and then dangerously near my hair a left eyebrow slowly wended its way. It gave me, I thought, a rather pensive appearance. Then I spoke, in deep husky tones, and gazed sorrowfully about me. I was Marlene Dietrich to a T”. Or didn't you know? Yesterday I was gay, the typical personality girl. What will I be like tomorrow? What am I really like underneath all those exterior affectations? It would be very difficult to probe inside to explore; I would be too apt to find myself entangled in a net of conflicting personalities, none my own. Perhaps too, I am a little afraid of what lies so far underneath. I might find a self very little like any I have ever known. I wonder. Do other people absorb and affect thoughts and mannerisms not their own? As I sit thinking, my hand steals upward and runs carelessly through long, jet black hair. I rise gracefully and glide out of die room, an excellent imitation of Hedy Lamarr. Janet MeGregor

Page 31 text:

THE MODEL KINGSWOOD GIRL I had a dream the other night That seemed so real and true. That I was a model Kings wood girl. It thrilled me through and through. That I woke up at seven on the dot, With a happy morning smile, That my clothes lay ready on a chair In a very orderly pile. I combed my hair and powdered my nose. Even got my breakfast down In ample time to study my French And master every noun. I got to school at eight-fifteen, Feeling very studious, too; And returned a book to the library Before it was even due. In assembly I listened attentively, For my current events were read; And I sang with a gusto seldom heard From one who’d just tumbled from bed. My rendition of Virgil was really the tops; And though all the class was surprised In history I knew each explorer by name And where he had colonized. When I heard there were cookies and chocolate milk For recess, although I was glad, I walked like a lady and waited my turn, And only one helping I had. I had extra time during study hall, For I was two days ahead in my work; So I finished my outside reading for French. It would never do to shirk. I jumped right up and went to sports, When I heard the school bell ring. We were having modem dancing that day, And I wanted to be in the swing. But alas! and alack! another bell rang! I opened my eyes in the gloom, And saw I had just five minutes to dress In a cold and darkened room. Harriet Cooper MEMORIES What are the things our senior year will recall? Why—the ultra-exclusiveness of our own study hall, Myriad white moccasins and long pig tails, Having tea--a kick that never fails. Gone With the Wind” and “Hello, Joe, The rush to modern dancing was very slow. Attending the Cass and eating at Sanders, Towards Fox and Hounds” ye Senior wanders, High socks and lots of junk jewelry, The Senior play and rehearsal tom foolery, Picnics in the gym and the coined noun, guff,’’ Brooks, saddle shoes, and such perennial stuff, Cur extra week-end and six hours too, Dam That Dream” and “Do I Love You,” Glen Miller’s band and All the Things You Are,” The ring ceremony and the Senior tea, The June formal and class day prophecy. Then graduation, mingled tears and laughter - These things we’ll remember for ever arter! Lyla Landis Dorothy Doan