Faulkner School for Girls - Kismet Yearbook (Chicago, IL)

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President Secretary Treasurer Seventh Grade Zonella Agar Olene G. Lorish Nina D’Ancona Nancy Miller Janet Forbes Suzanne Pfaelzer Edith E. Jackson Adele Whitaker OFFICERS Ee eee Ren VME EA te care Sha et ych ond Loe Janet Forbes Vice-President ee ete ree here se ons Adele Whitaker ih oe RM eI, ROR, Ee | a ee Nancy Miller Re OE te AT See eh has Edith Jackson Colors—Chinese Red and Ivory Asleep at the Post! A squad of soldiers straight and tall Anxiously await the bugle call; In uniforms gay they are dressed Each so straight to look his best. But why is there this sudden delay? We cannot stand like this all day. The bugler passes to and fro, Eager to bugle, “On to the foe!” Each soldier waiting hopefully All eyeing the bugler woefully; But why this waiting? Why not start? Is the General doing it for a lark? And then, alas! the truth leaks out; The jolly captain gives the shout, “The General is asleep!” Tired little boy with paper hat upon your head, Tired little boy, it’s time to go to bed. Janet Forbes Santa Claus It is Christmas Eve—one minute to midnight, The sky is dark, but the stars are bright. Impatient children have long since gone to bed, Waiting for the sound of Santa’s sled; But as they wait, their sleepy eyes do close In dreamland they peacefully doze: They dream sweet dreams of a fairyland Where boys and girls dance hand in hand. Santa’s sleigh softly stops; he takes out the toys, And slides down the chimney without any noise. He stealthily walks to the old fire place Warms his hands and wipes his face, Then places the toys under the tree For girls and boys like you and me; His gay little task is neatly done, He looks at the clock, it is almost one. Back up the chimney and off he starts Back to his workshop in unknown parts. Zonella Agar Page 13

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| i Page 12 First row: S. Pfaelzer, N. D’Ancona, A. Whitaker. Second row: E. Jackson, Z. Agar, G. Lorish. Top row: N. Miller, J. L. Forbes. a

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Page 14 Dusty Lane I wander down a dusty lane. My feet, they lag at every step. The bees hum ’round the clover tops, And from wild lilac comes an entrancing scent. It has not changed since I saw it last, Nearly forty years ago. My thoughts roam back into the past. Oh, why did I ever go? There is a cabin yonder, overgrown with weeds, All decayed and tumbled down; Yet it used to be a paradise, And I used to call it home. I a foolish boy was then, Always longed to roam; I couldn’t get along in this hard world, So here I am, alone. Hello, there, dear old Chestnut Tree! You’re the only friend I’ve left, So sturdy and tall! You will last Knowing all, yet ’m ashamed To have you know about my past. Among your branches [ used to sit, The soft song of your branches comforting me. My face is worn, My shoes are old. My clothes are torn. But I shall forget about my pain, Wandering to my home At the bend of Dusty Lane. Genevra Lorish The Silver Thread There’s a silver thread a-winding Across the meadows white, It comes from many tiny springs And makes a beauteous sight. It weaves its way among the trees And out into the valley; Tumbling over piles of leaves It never stops to dally. After many, many miles Through wood and field and meadow Dashing over rocks in piles It stops its rapid flow. Edith Jackson .