Phillips High School - Mirror Yearbook (Birmingham, AL)

Page 11 text:

The Mirror THE ARTIST His hair was light; his eves, steel blue. You could see through and through He was a man—. Free as a deer, He lived life in bounds and leaps— And pauses, too. 1 saw him as he lingered on a sandy stretch Reside the restless sea, 1 stole up to him, bur he neve- spoke to me. Watching two clippers tacking through the waters, He had a yearning in his eye For strong winds—far out to sea, That swept the billows high. As he paused, I heard him say. 1 must be gone; 1 cannot stay. Years I’ve wandered in Arabian deserts With the tribes and the bold fierce sheiks. I’ve stayed long, too, in the land of old Rome And the land of the classic Greeks— Then under his breath, he talked of a land of gold— The land of art with its legends bold— Then he mumured something about Phantasime Pan Then 1 caught the words— The Parthenon. Greatest wonder IVe looked upon. When at last I looked up He was gone— Mayhap to the port of Zanzibar Or some other poit more distant far, Making his life one great whole— Alive in body, alive in soul— —Horace Hughens

Page 10 text:

T me Mirror THE PROFESSIONAL Conventional black oxfords and black cotton stockings emerged from Room 117. The oxfords moved forward with tiny, faltering steps then blindly stumbling. “Poor, poor sweet Mrs. Willoughby was dead. Why did she have to die? Such a dear old lady with silvering hair—iust like Mother’s.” Each little step, falling unconsciously after the other, on down the corridor. Noisily the door of Room 117 opened. Out bounded conventional black oxfords and black cotton stockings. Light springy steps, almost gay, bounded down the corridor. “Well, that’s over with. The old fussy cat—serves her right. Crying and whimpering around like a young pup just because someone spilled hot lemonade down her back.” Down the length of the corridor strode the black oxfords. Noiselessly the door of Room 117 opened and closed. Conventional black oxfords and black cotton stockings, but this time an even, unhurried tread down the corridor. The family must be notified. Too bad. some member of the family couldn’t have been with her. It all happened so quickly. Doctor Watson had been so sure; but one never can tell. People go on dying. Make them comfortable while they arc here. Hut when they go, there will be others.” Professional footsteps moved quietly and quickly down the quiet corridor. —Mary Drake r«]

Page 12 text:

The Mirror THE DREAMER I thought that the dog would he old as the house, And the house as old as the sea And the people in the house as old as eternity. They are content in that quiet cove Sheltered and harbored, 1 can see. But I'd find my peace beyond this place Close to the roar of the waves. Perhaps when 1 have grown old and tired, 1 shall like a place to rest. An alcove like rheirs where the tide doesn’t change. And life is one even ebb and flow. And maybe m dog will be as old as the house. And the house as old as the sea And I in my house as old as eternity. —Virginia Bridgewater A MOTHER ON SI NDAV MORNING I give a final, extra press To all six ruffles on your dress; Vainly I hunt for pink silk socks Which you’ve cut up for goldilocks. 1 try to curl your hair, while you Keep hopping like a kangaroo; Then strive to tie a ribbon bow You won’t lose for an hour or so. 1 cope with jam, which always jumps Straight for your new y cleaned white pumps. And drop your purse in the goldfish pool With all of your pennies for Sunday School. Sometimes, my darling pride and joy. I almo.t wish you were a boy! •••Eva Lee Frederick 110]