Fairfield Community High School - Reflector Yearbook (Fairfield, IL)

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'-'W'-' THE REFLECTOR SENIOR POETRY THE YEAR I think that out of all the year October is the best. It seems to me that all the trees In Sunday clothes are dreised. Just when I'm sure that it's my choice 'Iis then I think of May. The fields are green, the skies are clear. Such lovely days to play! December is a jolly month With Christmas in the air, With Santa Clause on Christmas Eve And snow just everywhere. Now on my mind there flashes March, With every wire and tree, All wearing coats of ice that look Like oiled-silk to me. For Painter God it take a month Upon His canvas-earth To paint a brand new landscape scene And give the world new birth. In all twelve pictures not one has The beauty of them all. The winter doesn't have a show Of flowers as the fall. Now which one really is the best? I'm sure that no one knows. I change my mind the thirtieth day Of each dear month as it goes. -Doris Smith. T0 A CAT Wee, scurryin', hurryin', little lady, Oh, what a panic's in thy haidie! Thou come a' flurlyin' into the ha' Wi' a' the newciel About our friends you tae us a' Bill, Kate, an' Susie! Your business own must gae neglected Till faults of ithers are a' corrected: 'Iill secrets deep have a' been shared You must say on! Till lives of ithers you have blared, Yes, ever' n' anon! -Max Barnard. BLAME THE TEACHER She bide us study fast and hardg We looked into the hall, Marlin explained in great detail: We wondered who'd won in ball. We listened to her patiently, We thought of something near, Like where we'd go, or what we'd do, Not of the poets, oh dear! She gave us tests, we wrote some words, With all our fingers crossed 5 We got our grades, we raized the roof, All hopes for us were lost! She went over, explained, and preached, We knew deep in our hearts, But would we admit defeat, no! Our eyes threw angry darts. She gave in, we took another test, We raked our brains in vaing We hadn't studied, how could We pass, So, she was blamed again. -Dorothy Musgrave. .,.,1 SPRING TIME In early morning when I woke, The smoke coils through the trees The boat lies idle on the lake, The leaves play in the breeze. I hear the song of the skylark As he sings to his mateg The blue jays and the sparrows dart Over the garden gate. The clear blue sky up above Is sprinkled with white clouds, I hear the song of the turtle dove As he sings long and loud. I see the rocks and zigzag paths, The rippling of the stream 5 The water rushes playfully Acrocs the woodland scene. When evening shadows begin to fall And I sit down to rest, The whippoorwill to his mate calls, The sun sinks in the west. -Doris Mae Haegele.