Saxton Liberty High School - Block Yearbook (Saxton, PA)

Page 28 text:

TO A SAILOR She said, the day you left, not long ago, That you shoula never see her cry. And though she misses you more every day, Before she'd cry, I know she'd rather die. Her face was smiling when you saw it last. She cried a little after you had gone. She didn't seem ashamed of those few tears; Instead, she's proud that you are brave and strong She says she'11 smile when you come home someday; And though you're on a shin or in a foreign land, I hope you'll always sec her smiling face, Ti e way it looked the sry you went away. So just remember this about your Mom, She's smiling though she wishes you wore heme. Betty Miller FCk POSTERITY We live in the year of forty-two. The tires arc rationed and the cars -arc not new. Next on the list we find sugar and gas, And soon coffee and tea will be tilings of the past Doris Letagar MY OLD CAR I have four tires upon my car; I'm sure they won't take me very far. Oil is scarce and gas is low, (That's a. good reason for driving slow.) The brakes won't hold When the weather is cold. And I can't drive at night 3ecause the lights aren't bright. But that old car is the pride of my heart. Though in a. few months, I know, it won't start, I'll ja.ck it up and give it a shine And still keep and cherish that car of mine. Jessie Lowells IOYl -LETTER SALUTATION Mike, my'dear, . l,-rtcc' the note; Sweetheart, Honey caused me to dote, ' Dearest, Darling in successive tri-s. Appeared mushy before my eyes. T: is doesn't ratter; it's what's below. So it was begun with a. curt Hollo. Bette Gates Bill Cunningham

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POETRY CORNER 1943 FOR WHAT IT STANDS V atands for victory, and so does dot dot dash, I stands for rae and my rights. C is to remind mo what could have happened, T is trust in C-od day after day. 0 is over my dead body will they win, R is to render to all the Axas sure defeat, Y is for you, too, to help Uncle Sam win, Teddy Guerin, Jr, EMIGRANT He thoi’ght of the fields, and the bogs of peat, And .the wind's cold, and the summer's heat. The fog, the damp, that came dorm in the night, And stayed when the sun, with a blurry light, Came up like a candle out of the night, The work and the fun and the politics, And the way old Mike on tho highway'3 right Would play his fiddle and hold out his liand, Asking a bit of the rich of the land. Ho wished old Mike could be with him non, That they all could see what he oaw now; To stand over tho waves and sco The welcoming Statue of Liberty That loads to the land of equality. Thereso McCarthy AIRPORT I like an airport best at night, When tho flood-light swings in a groat white light. And tho blinkers, rod and green, bordering tho runaway, for miles can be soon. And tho ships come in from the phantom sky then taxi in through the hanger doors. Eilcno Weaver BUCK OUT The lonely wail of the siron, Coming through the night, Makes us ill sit up and listen Then tra’n out all the light; It comes when you least expect it— But that is tho wry it should bo— Out of tho clear cool darluioss, As a warning to you and to no. Kathryn Bridonbaugh

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TO A YOUNG WOMAN A small-featured, curt littlo girl With hair in a stilish curl Cane past ny scat, And I neod not repeat, Gave ny head a whirl. I followed her with ny eyes down the aisle. There ny eyes stopped and rested awhile. She sc.t in her seat with manners so neat I was obliged to stare at her well-grooncd hair And decide That a young woman was seated there. Bill Cunningham TO YOU And sometimes I wonder why I do not cr.ro For things I onco lilced — clothes I once used to wear. They bring sad and happy monorics of that and this— Of a frown, a laugh, your happy smile that I miss. Tho sun never shines and the rain never falls Without bringing a day of the year that recalls Hours spent with you. love has not died, But 0, the gulf that separated us was ever wide. Helen Bussard GRADE SCHOOL NOTES He handed it shyly over. She took it with a b3.u3h. Ho turned his back toward her And opened his book in a rush. She slowly opened it And with a sigh she read. Her cheeks burned so. She quit And quickly hid her head. Roses are rod, Violets are blue, Sugar is sweet. And so are you. It’s just corny poetry now, written so poor, Yet at tho time Shakespeare could have said no more, Louise Brumbaugh CHRISTMAS — 19A2 It is Christmas, nineteen forty-two, And all of us wishing our tires were now. And if we had tires, there would be no gas, And so, ny friend, I say to you, Alas! Robert Campbell