Altona Collegiate - Green and Gold Yearbook (Altona, Manitoba Canada)

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EVENING The cattle slowly homeward plod Past fields of gold, now veiled by dusk; Their lumbering steps impress the sod, And odours tinge the air. The corn husk Stands rooted in the rich, dark earth, And the moon sheds a halo ’bout its ear. The silent woods dissemble mirth Till the cold winds whisper, and I hear From distant pools the chanting throng Of frogs in strange melodius song. Then high Above me, I see the night come on, And the heavenly bodies light up the sky. Then do my eyes return to gaze At the fast-fading glory of the red sun’s dying rays. — Joyce Wiebe, XII ECLIPSE OF DEATH The melancholy days have come, The saddest of the year, Of wailing winds and naked woods And meadows brown and sere. A feeling of sadness and longing Pervades my dark and stormy soul, And all the winds of autumn cry— Death is brief as falling water, As a falling flower, or a leaf. The jester’s motley garb hangs before me still. Go! You shall not chase my gloom away. Oh, amiable, lovely Death, Tonight I shall inherit thee! ’Tis madness to defer. Come, in consumption’s ghastly form, Come, while my heart beats high and warm. -T ' he scarlet fever of life surges from my limbs Sweet, blessed pain! There is a mist on the glass congealing The world slides . . . slides. Love melts into memory and pain into songs; All I meant to say remains unsaid— I go, sustained and soothed; I cease to die ... I am dead. Yonder, my ethereal spirit Crowned with lilies and laurel Floats on a cloud, so like a sheet, Body unbled— I am not dead. — Rose Loeppky, XU DISILLUSIONED LEAVES FALLING Disillusioned leaves falling When they thought they could fly; Cold grey clouds ploughing Across an impersonal sky. A tin can rattled, a mouse Squeaked as the cat pounced; Cool as you’d squelch a louse, The dead rodent’s skull crunched. Cold and cruel world, Where is your heart? Like a butcher-knife hurled— You cut us apart. Gone are the soft days, The day of mud-pies and dolls; Gone are the priceless dreams That follow the tears of a fall. Gone are the seven-cent soft drinks, The air rifle, and nickel gophertail. Left: only dirty dishes in the kitchen sink, And a hole in the new milk pail. Boys become men, Swear, and turn into rats; Followed by girls Who, giggling, become cats. Rodent and feline— Each accusing the other Of cheating and lying, Like himself, undercover. Like disillusioned leaves, falling When they thought they could fly; People, alone in the dark, groping In a well that’s run dry. — Sharon Porter, XII 26

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Dauna Funk Dolores Heinrichs Carolyn Funk