Contoocook Valley Regional High School - Yearbook (Peterborough, NH)

Page 110 text:

X l 1 f X Spring All of us t ' to the sun knowing i l to be the to make d and icy b -X and cause smiles to 5 Meg Peterson I z'- Z ! , x..2 EWS Www WM ff W WW 1

Page 109 text:

...i 2 X 'QM -s M A Tear of God 1 S I' C- .J mL W Here is the church, there are the people. WWW' Where is the bell that rang in the steeple? It rings no more. A W The bell has no faith in the people. I fi ,.. The people have no faith at all. A A And the paint keeps cracking on Q ,Y the Sistine Chapel walls. . , And even those holy people Q have lost faith. g ? Q The sun no longer shines through A the stained- glass windows Q As the clouds threaten overhead. It is not a drop of rain Qu' but a tear of God. E' compliments of Q X Kenneth La Roche L A 1 Q s X X That day, While you were crying, s I knelt before the window i and watched the evening grey Q dull the autumn gold. . And far below, a wooden wagon wheel f K lay snugly, gently, X wrapped between Q the milkweed foids. X w y Then a fallen maple leaf , lighted on my N windowsill, and flew away 4 as I got up to go to you and dry your eyes. S A But you had left, y , f and I alone, n sat very still. ' Skip Philbrick T faraway G

Page 111 text:

we are the trench diggers attacking the earth with our puny shovels we are the trench diggers burying ourselves in our work we are alone do not mind the tears it is not for us to decide what our labor should beg when our hearts are suffocated by our brains the sea will wash us away look at me, dear, with your burden I am going to help you and wipe the mud from your face yea, the trench digger will help you as the gravel coats his throat . . . we are no longer digging we are the martyrs of fate you people who walk above us now smell the flowers that spring from our souls smell the lonliness that seeps from our guts Eric Maloney I found a dandilion today Bright and fresh and new. I only wish the rule-makers Could feel its spirit too. It 's hard to understand Why they just can 't see. But I'm far from them now They don 't know what it is to be free. Meg Peterson go d There is a quiet place deep inside me where flowers grow and green plants that don 't have flowers it 's alright not to have flowers i love them as much i understand WI ASW because Meg Peterson it was the letter that never was sent ' ' ' that meant most to our lives it was the thought that was never spoken that best controlled our minds never shall I regret what I am going to do and never shall you knowg don't say harsh words, time allows silence time allows a man to write his Lmwritten will. Eric Maloney Zoma laid her eggs five days ago. She knew it was time. The sun rose early and highg but was soon to set, and low. She lost her taste for flies and life, but kept her web taut. Morning cold was hard. Zorna's motions slowed. I wanted to be with her more, but trivia trapped me. The other day I visited her again. There she lay, in the middle of her web - still. I reached to touch her. She did not move, and I knew she was dead. I thought: when most things are dead they are frightening, but Zorna was beautiful - delicate and sensitive. I realized that there would be other spiders, but none would be the same as Zorna. In spring, Zorna 's spiders would come to life. Many would leave, and many would die. Damn you Nature. But one would remain, and others would die. Damn you Nature. But one would remain and others would come. Life is like that. You get attached to things and then they die or leave. So, you look forward but will always be looking back into the web. Wynn Scott