Phillips High School - Mirror Yearbook (Birmingham, AL)

Page 15 text:

1‘ it e Mirror AT HARVEST TIME The air was clear and bracing, The distant stars shone blight. Among grey clouds went racing A Harvest Moon that night. Haystacks gleamed in the meadows, Moonbeams danced on the lane, Playing hide-and-seek with shadows Between the golden grain. Yellow rays in the sparkling lake, Rising, falling on the foam. Rippled in the water’s wake Gently trickling o’er the stone. Souls gazed on this splendid sight Sketched upon the midnight blue, Saw cherished dreams and fond delight Brighten, glimmer—then come true. —Rebecca Averyt FALL Blowing winds tell of winter cold, And that fall's retreat is near. But mellow pumpkins on yellow vines Speak words of lusty cheer. —Gwendolyn Harbuck MASTERPIECE Red leaves. Fiery red with mingling brown, Splashed like blood on bare background ; God’s masterpiece in nature’s frame— Autumn! —Michael White AUTUMN LEAVES The air grows chilly, the wind heaves a sigh. And the leaves turn yellow as the days go by. The wind blows fierce and the leaves let fly. Falling to earth from the gray blue sky. —Eva Lee Frederick [13]

Page 14 text:

T he Mirror REQUIEM TO EVENING Soft, like filmy silk, Darkness enfolds the world. After pale twilight Comes evening star— Silver and pearl. Noises softened by night Make a symphony deep and low. Singing a requiem To departed day, In measures sad and slow. —Freida McCarter INSPIRATION OF MORN Lights glimmering in the dusk, Half-hidden by fleeing mists Flicker—then die. A pale streak of rosy light Shows Morn is nigh. People here and there Busily go their way, Hurrying—ever. Spurred To new endeavor. —Freida McCarter [12]

Page 16 text:

The Mirror SIGNS OF WINTER Whirling, drifting snow, Falling softly to the ground; Strong, sturdy winds That whip around Tall bare trees Against a graying sky; Weather-beaten houses, With chimneys smoking high. —Doris Kincaid RAIN A dreary little sign comes from afar With the dripping, the dripping of the rain. A lonely little wave climbs a sand-bar With the coming, the coming of the rain. Somebody’s tired baby falls fast asleep With the lulling, the lulling of the rain. Somebody's huge ship tosses on the deep With the beating, the beating of the rain. One of God’s pretty flowers drinks her fill. With the showering, the showering of the rain. One of God’s wee birds opens wide his bill, With the falling, the falling of the rain. —Freida McCarter THE WIND It nips the rosy cheeks, Sweeps the golden grain, 'Turns the windmill’s vane. It drives the smoke away; It makes the trees to sway— The wind. It tosses winged seeds in flight, It disturbs the duskiness of night, The wind—the wind. —Lawton Dcaa [14]