Boston University College of Practical Arts and Letters - Sivad Yearbook (Boston, MA)

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I APPRECIATION Ch, little Pekingese: Since once I heard thee sneeze With a fussy little wheeze, And Watched thy trotting legs, Like sawedfoff wooden pegs- Since I spied thy puggy nose A In its flattenedfout repose, And Watched each Hopping ear With which thou seemst to hear- Since I found thy heady eyes Peeping out in dumb surprise From thy silky tangled hair Which no other dog would wear- Since I, saw thee, I have said, Are other doggies dead? Can not a dog be found- Some large, substantial hound With lengthy pedigree To take the place of thee? Did they choose thee for thy face Gr thy shortflegged, wohbly grace? Or art thou but a toy For thy mistress to enjoy? Oh, little Pekingese, With thy fussy little wheeze Thou art-full of mysteries. 188

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' HOBBIES Waiting for the mailman . Listening to excuses Going to the movies Pleading for dues . Playing bridge p . Acting dignihed . Cutting classes . Looking for Happy Being patient . . Tuning inw on the radio . . Answering Cand askingb questions . Catching mice . PRoFBssoR: What is a neural arc? y STUDENT Ctimidlyjz Is it something like Noah's Ark? There isa 'Lprofw at P. A. L. Who makes his quizzes brief, Which to his busy students Is always a relief. When in a quiz he said, Just name, And did not say, Discuss, His pupils rose up one by one And made an awful fuss. First up spoke one and then another, g'Don't you want us to discuss? And finally in despair he said, You may cuss, but not discuss lv 187 . . All of us Miss McClintock Dorothy Kellar The Treasurers . Florence Liff . The Seniors . . Any of us Priscilla Leach . Miss Dyer Margaret Daley . Our Faculty . Steve, the Cat

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3, HIS PICTURE It is only his picture, a lifeless picture That looks at me all the while And I get so tired of that same old pose- I Wish he would move or smile! He looks so lifelike that I often think He may really speak to me, But the days of Aladdin, of fairies, and elfs, 'Are the things of the uusedftofbef' So he doesn't move, or smile, or speak, But looks steadily at me all day, And I sometimes Wonder, what is the use Of his photograph, anyway? Is it to make me think of him oftener And of the fun that used to be? Is it to take me 'away from this land of school p To the land of memory? But I can't live nor pass on memory, For this, alas, is the present, So I turn to my Shorthand, Spanish, and Ec.- And my thoughts are not so pleasant! I mustn't think of such trivial things, The intellectual trend Is the one I must take-but let me see, When shall I see him again? It is just his picture, a lifeless picture, It is only a memory- ' But I Wish he were real and could talk and laugh For I crave reality! 189 l I