Corcoran High School - Glen Echo Yearbook (Syracuse, NY)

Page 210 text:

In Mm 1 Corcoran s maroon ana white Will wave oeyond our times The Dride we feel rinos loftier That what Join what With all a poet s rhymes other school s majestic towers hanus o er crystal stream? qreener woodland frames a poem knowledge as its theme? Thy scholars mold the aqe beyond, Inspired by thy brave truth. Thy noble light will quide us still, when past are days of youth. when traveling the future's course, Uncharted, but by Fate, We'll yearn to trend aqain the ground Our youth did consecrate. Douglas WacDonald Class of '68 W, f

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We ve only just begun yet the trme we ve been planmng for and dream 1ng of IS almost a reallty Endless memorres of numerous experrences those whlch can never be duphcated pass before us We w1ll never be able to turn back the clock to th1s trme for we are the people of tomorrow Although hrgh school rs only one segment of our lrfe we must keep 1n mrnd that durrng thrs trme we have bullt our own foundatron for our own future Graduatron IS not the end but just .1 step toward the begmnrng We must never regret what we have done for we made rt the way rt was Every eprsode of the past years has ber them Wllh as lrttle sorrow as pos srble for rt IS a prece of our hrstory We cannot change or relrve the yes terdays they are gone forever But we can learn from them IH plannmg our tomorrows makmg hfe better 1 - ' - , 5 5 , . l - Y. . ' ' , , 1 ' . ' . . . , A l ' ' . . become part of us. We must remem- , , . - . y I y . . . . - , ' , . . ' I . Y . . . , '

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Xl , 5 f ,Mgt , , p W l w L' 'W r lil it I lull. XX, K 8 Q V, Q I W PM ' A Ula a ll Uu Nil +4 ooking back, we may remember the familiar faces and realize that some have disappeared. Our foot- steps will never be the same, and our paths shall never over- lap as they once did. We will be on our own and sometimes alone. The bridge will have served it's purpose, helping, leading, and guiding. Each of us has found a path. We will never forget that bridge, a span measured not in feet, but in time. In the water below are the reflections of those who made it alive. The Water moves on, and the reflections become ripples, Wandering in all directions, then blur. People keep crossing, com- ing, leaving, and separating. But should our paths cross again, it will be a time to share the memories, the times, the tears, the smiles, the sighs, and the friends . . . G O