Buffalo Seminary - Seminaria Yearbook (Buffalo, NY)

Page 31 text:

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26 I-g SEMINARIA 1942 in the dense gray nothingness, looking for home. A loud Board sounded, and Janie tried hard to conceal the tears that just would come into her eyes. You will wait for me? he made her promise for the thirteenth time. The train was again filling with boisterous life. Just always. She was really crying now, an awful pain came over her. It wasn't like the one she had had after she had been riding on the handle bars of Tim's bike and they had hit a bump. It wasn't quite like the one she had had when her dog had died. It wasn't like anything she had ever experienced before. If it wasn't for you, I don't think I'd care if- Don't! she said. Great stinging tears streamed down her cheeks. But I do. He kissed her. For a while nothing else mattered, the pain had gone, she ceased thinking or feeling. Time was nothing. Board ! At that moment Janie changed. She knew in some intangible,intuitive way. She was no longer a little girl, a silly flighty child to be protected from sorrow and pain. E Whenever you come back, I'll be right here. Ten minutes early, too. And I'll write just every night. . The train, slowly leaving, looked like a huge black bug with waving arms sticking out crazily at all angles. Everything swam before her as she turned dully to go. She looked about at the other people on the platform, at the other grief- stricken faces, and she dried her eyes. There was the pain again. She wondered, not caring, if it would ever stop. He must come back, he must come back, he must come back. Her heart thumped violently as she walked slowly home. Home, she thought, with a question mark. He must come back, he must comeen Janie glanced up at the inky sky. The mist cleared for a second, and two tiny stars' were mirrored in her eyes. Star light, star bright- She stepped off .the curb into the swirling muddy water in the gutter. First star I see tonight- A shrill whistle rent the air. Wish I may, wish I might, have the w- There was a screeching and grinding of brakes. I PATRICIA HALLORAN '42

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23 -.-et 5Ef3f1,1bifSL':-,.-i Ilhituary Opportunity, you lie in unmarked grave, Your pregnant words stopped with the life of time, Indecision melted down the life you gave, And withered all the promise of your prime. After quarrels and trials they opened unto you, Emaciated, dying at the gate, From feverish lips those tardy words they drew, But the fist of War had crumpled up their fate. No knell tolled forth your death and our last peace Save the chimes of loss that wailed our bleak despair, Nor could guilty men your blazing fame surcease, For dark stains of blood traced the story there. Yet, like smoking wick of snuffedfout flame, You, sallow ghost, may light our hope again. Resurrection TO MAC ARTHUR Oh barren skeleton of longfpassed chance Those fleshless bones with life are clothed once more: Oh Opportunity, what hero's lance Has pierced Death's veil and battered down his door? What mortal hand has tumed your dust to flesh, What mortal eye has seen your smoking flame, What human breath has blown you life afresh, And nourished you until you walked again? When enemies would capture your new might Who took their every action in his scopeg Who placed a shade on your revealing light And held you like a banner for our hope? And if, outwom, no victory you bear, At least he plucked your fruit from our despair. Amsou Ross, '42