Abington High School - Oracle Yearbook (Abington, PA)

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'Winter' and 'The Wind' won Second prize in poetry contest un... Q 1 f 1 7 ' K IL' 'iv Manta Like memories of another world, When winds are harsh and shrill, Ghostly skeletons of trees Stand shivering on the hill. The earth is cold and cheerlessg Gone is summer 's glow. The days are dark and empty, Waiting for the now. '-'tv -7 Illustration . . BETTY STADELMEIER, '51 'Wie Wad The wind has many voices And strange mysterious sounds- Sibilant whispers through the tall pines, The rustling of brown leaves in the fall, The whistling as it swoops round the eaves On a frosty nightg The soft sigh as it sweeps down the grasses On the dunes. It can gently nod the daisies' heads Or scatter papers noisily in March. It can churn the billowing waves And thunderously crash the surf against the rocks, Or be still As the unbroken silence of death. '7he '7!uuule4 Steam The day is thick and sultry And clouds, like tents of gray, Have gathered in the heavy air To keep the sun away. The day is growing darker And thunder fills the skyg The earth is tensely waiting The visit from on high. A break comes in the cumbrous clouds. And down through space are hurled The angry gods of lightning, Who will punish all the world. BARBARA FLOWER. '51

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and to Bud. After groping through the dark, he neared the spot of the ambush. The gnats were out in force, and a lone mosquito made the only audible noise. The form his hands touched was cold and life- less when he turned it over. A small trickle of blood ran from the tightly closed mouth. Even now he could sense them closing p A Fine Day I t 's clear today. The sky is blue, And earth reflects the gold of the sun,- Dry leaves scatter before my feet With a sound like corn flakes without milk. Milkweed pods and shriveled stems .Litter the path through the fikeld to the wood, Where deep-erlimsoned giants spread tat- tered arms against the blue. Skeletons remain of many, which, Having dropped their tawny blankets, fell asleep. Tomorrow will be more normal. It will rain, And the laughing leaves will perish into brown mold. The tinted hills will dull to pale heavens,- The framework of the woods will lose its lingering crop of fiery hair, And await the snow-white of old age. Anyway, we live today. PATRICIA WELLS, '51 W TH ELMA KALEN, '51 in. He would Welcome them. Let them come, he said aloud. . Suddenly a rifle spoke from the dark- ness, then another and another. Charlie answered their scattered fire with a. brief volleyg then a knife rose and fell. And the jungle was quiet. RALPH PILLISOHER, '51 ff' if 'fi-:,, nm, End of Summer Yellow goldenrod, Balmy September day, Deck summer in one last splendor, l And sadly lay her away. Scarlet sage And leaves of brown, Softly, softly bed her down. Clover, Wild aster, And Queen Anne's lace, In wreath, in spray, Adorn her resting place. Look at her, Ah, look at her and sigh That one so loveky had to dwg Look at her and turn away, For this is Summer's last sweet day. h KARL KNAUER '51

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It takes teamwork to produce '7!w W' I had just dribbled in for a layup when Coach Irving said, All right, gang, that ls enough practice for toda.y. Don't forget to take warm showers and get to bed early. We 'Ve got a long week ahead of us. As I walked toward the showers, my teammate and buddy, Tommy Jackson, fell in with me. You certainly are improving your play around the foul circle, he said. If you do11't watch out, you're going to become a good basketball player. I was just about to answer him when Coach Irv- ing motioned to me to follow him into his office. Once inside the office, he turned to me and said, Your playing is improving, Dick, but you seem to lack drive and spirit. Is something bothering you? If so, tell me, a.nd maybe I can help you? No, there is nothing wrong, I replied. I guess I'm just tired. But deep down inside me, I said to myself, He's just like all the rest. Who cares about spirit and drive? Spirit doesn 't win a basketball game. Well, get some rest. You'll probably feel better by morning, he said. After I showered and dressed, I met Tommy outside the gym. Hurry up, slow poke, I'm already late for dinner, he said. As we walked along through the December twilight. he talked about the big game next week and the dance afterwards. While he talked on, I thought to myself, What's he so pepped up about? Of course, I want to win, but what's all this enthusiasm about? It 's just another school game. School spirit, school spirit, that's xv NAN DIVA LERIO, '51 all I hear, School spirit doesn't win games, school spirit doesn't score pointsg the basketball players do. When we reached my house, Tom and I said goodbye, and I went in to eat. Two nights later we played Midvale in a home game, and it was in this game I got my first taste of real school spirit. The stands filled up rapidly as we warmed up, and I thought to myself, Why does every- body come dressed up with school signs and decorations? It's just another basket- ball game. The first quarter was tight, and we led only 21-20 at the buzzer. During the second quarter there was a scuffle for a rebound under our backboard, and I saw Tommy get an elbow in the ribs. It must have hurt because of the wayihe winced. We called time out, but he said he was all right and the game was resumed. After a hard fought second quarter, the half ended with us holding a slim 39-38 edge..