Cumnock School - Chronicle Yearbook (Los Angeles, CA)

Page 81 text:

FOREIGN SKIES LA C-UITARRISTA By joan Dilson juanita es una guitarrista Quien toca su guitarra todo dia. Primero un clasico que tiene mucho hermoso Y entonces jazz que tiene solo ritmo. IMPOSIBLE By Ted Nilsson You no puedo componer, Ni escribir poemas. Solo puedo deponer Mis juicios en prosas. EL MOREN lS'l'O By Selma Shelley El morenisto que vi ayer Estaba quapo tan podia Alegria todos sabe traer Por tocar su quitarra bien. IOIALA By joan Dilson You quiero tomar un viaje a Espana Y ver la razon de su simpatica Tiene Espana casas y fabricas? Si verdad, son como las nuestras?

Page 80 text:

FOREIGN SK DIE NATUR By Suzanne Vidor lch schau' die kleinen Kinder Die spielen in der Sonneg Sie sind wie Fruehlingsblumen, So hell und voll der Wonne, Es gibt mir leid zu schliessen Beide sollen bald verschiessen. REVOLTE D' UN ELEVE By Bill Pearson Qu'est-ce que ca vous avez Ia? C'est un livre. Commencez a Le Iire, monsieur, c'est tres bien. Quant a moi-tiens-tiens . . Qu'est-ce que ca vous- avez dit? j'ai oublie, il est parti: je ne m'en rapelle pas as je ne suis pas ici, je ne suis pas Ia. Qu'est-ce que ca vous avez produit? C'est tres mauvais, mal ecrit. Car je prefere les bons vieux temps- Sans aucunes classes et Ie printempsl'

Page 82 text:

L I T E R A T U R E NIGHT Sally Caisford The sun burned low, And all around the flying things A tree with flying branches Stirred into life: Caught in the wind from the sea, The pine tree made shadows like Dipped and whispered Grotesque hands against the house, Old, old things And all about the garden crept the dusk To the privet hedge, Over the flower beds, making lt in turn rustled, and in Purple flowers blend into Sighs and murmurs told the grass The velvet of the night, That night was coming. The chameleon curtain of the sky A night bird swirled into Was studded with stars, The pampas grass and sang a call A moon swung high, To tell his mate, Night had come- THE HARBOR Della K. Root The ocean seemed to be steaming as the gray fog rose slowly off the murky water. Small tugs woke from the night's slumber, and grumbled as their masters loaded them with nets and ropes, along the wharf pale men, dark men, scarred men, huge men, and scrawny men worked slowly. just as slowly the sun in the east climbed higher and higher in the heavens and the harbor brightened as though a magic wand had touched it. A huge white liner glided like a smooth white swan through the narrow passage, past tank- ers, oilers, sheds, and wharves. She pulled alongside the large metal shed, where excited murmurs circulated through the crowd. Gang planks were hoisted. White coated stewards, dark coated officers, and gay passengers filed down, and scrambled among the baggage and customs. Then myster- iously it all grew quiet. The tired tugs crept up to the wharf. The pale, dark, scarred, huge and scrawny men hurried away, all was quiet except' the rhyth- mic motion of the waterg soon even the water seemed to sleep. 68