Elmwood School - Samara Yearbook (Ottawa, Ontario Canada)

Page 13 text:

SUMMER Playing in the meadows, Picking lovely flowers. There is not a shadow, To hide the fairy bowers. Swimming in the little stream. Climbing ap the elm trees, Sleeping with a pleasant dream, Hunting for the bumble bees. When away the summer fades. In the grassy fields we ' ll see Distant Winter casting shades. And the birds will cross the sea. —JOAN AHEARN. CROSSWORD PUZZLES Crossword puzzles are the rage; I can do ' em like a sage. Seven down and eight along; It ' s as easy as a song. Jack gives way unto despair. What ' s the last word in a prayer? (Don ' t ask me!) Oh dear! Oh dear! Letters four and meaning mere ? Sitting up till near the dew, Every night our task we do. Oh! This puzzle ' s hard to-night! Oh! I cannot get it right! —PETER AND LETTY WILSON. 11

Page 12 text:

MORNING SCHOOL You don t say that we have Geometry! Oh, How to do those old Theorems, I ' m sure I don ' t know! Thus remark I at the start of the day, When I think I am free, and would so like to play. Another arrives and upstairs we tread. And I try to get twenty-one into my head: At last in despair, our poor text books are flung And we rush to the hall as the first bell is rung. We ' re s ' posed to be still yet I ' m sorry to say Both seniors and juniors are too fond of play. But at last it is stopped, as Miss Soame seals our doom — - All who spoke go and stand at the back of the room . Roll-call comes next, and then reading and prayers And Singing! Poor Mrs. Buck surely has cares! Miss Neal then deals out confiscations galore — Detentions and marks off! Each day more and more! And then what ' s called physical culture or drill . Physical torture more like it! It makes us quite ilL At the word of command, to the classrooms we race, And each girl (none too quietly) sits in her place. When no Mistress appears, we get boisterous and loud. In a gossipy group we then noisily crowd. With her favourite expression Miss King then arrives You can all write a page from your ' Plutarch ' s Lives ' . Not a word may be spoken till ' leven o ' clock. Work is impossible when you all talk. We all settle down then to problems and sums What sighs of relief when the time to stop comes! Then we rush out of doors with a ball and a bat. And tear around, regardless of blazer or hat. We stroll from the field when we hear the bell ga, And get into trouble for being so slow. And then for our Algebra class we are late. It is good we don ' t always keep on at this rate! The morning is over, so outdoors we file. And walk down the road in a long crocodile. We come back, and eat our potatoes and corn And this is the end of an imperfect morn! — M. BORDEN, 10

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PETER PAN As the snow was gently falling, Down on the hard brown earth, On the lowest branch of a pine-tree Sat a creature, full of mirth. He was light about his manner, And his height was very small. He had nothing much about him, But he didn ' t mind at all. He whistled once or twice, And then away he ran, And I learned a long time after That his name was Peter Pan. —BETTY SMART. THE DEATH OF THE YEAR It is the time the old year dies. The time so dull and drear. The trees are bare, with moaning cries, They mourn the dying year. The birds have gone to warmer climes. The flowers are all asleep, And through the dark ' ning sunset, soft The little snowflakes creep. The year is sad and bent and Slow, The year, alas! is old. He gives place to the coming year, Whose myst ' ries will unfold. —MABEL DUNLOP. 12