Fort Worth Junior High School - Purple Yearbook (Fort Worth, TX)

Page 101 text:

.'1I ' . -, y, v-, .- 4 I is 5L,,...,... I, I.. af is ,ng Brvqi ,, AI-I, JOY IS SUCH A FRAGILE THING ANNIE RUTH KIMBROUGH Ah, Ioy is such a fragile thing, A bubble light and airy. The dust upon the night moth's wings Elusive as a fairy. Lille fleecy cloudlets in the slay Or soft mist o'er a mountain, A gorgeous rainbow flaming high, The music of a fountain. The fountain's music dies away The rainbow soon will vanish, The cloudlet passes with the day, The mists the sun will banish. A single touch, the bubble's gone, The moth wings marred and broken, The fairy flits away at dawn, Ere mortal words are spoken. Ah, joy is such a fragile thing, A careless word will bruise it. So guard it closely lest you fling Your chance away and lose it. WINTER SIGNALS RAYMOND W. DARRAH The wild ducks feed in the marshes, I heard them at dawn today, The wild ducks feed in the marshes, All -ready to fly away, And winter is surely coming, Though never a flake of snow Falls on my garden blossoms, For the ducks are gathered to go. The wild duelzs feed in the marshes, I could not number them all, The wild duclas feed in the marshes, To rise at the leader's call 5 So I kindle my hearth fire early, For winter is on the way, A snow storm sweeps from the Arctics Ana' the ducks will be opt today.

Page 100 text:

P 'F ' 1 i 1 ls 15, Iii, 4 .H il ,frjs stepping on them, and no amount of whipping could persuade him to be more careful. Three died from the effects of a rain storm. At the end of the first month Widow Flanagan was in abject discouragement. She poured forth her troubles to Mrs. McCarty, who gave her ample advice, but no material aid. The chicks finally grew into pullets, and on one sunny afternoon the Widow gathered her first eggs. Soon the hens were laying fairly well, and Widow Flanagan, with the saying, Don't give up the ship,', on her mind, was encouraged tremendously. Her hopes were short-lived, how- ever, the hens went on a strike, and no amount of feeding could induce them to lay an egg. Mrs. McCarty,s small son, Sam, felt especially sorry for the Widow Flanagan and helped her in every way he could. One evening as the widow was on the verge of selling her hens, a great surprise was given her, half of her hens had laid eggs that day. The dozen eggs laid by two dozen hens once more made the widow's hopes soar. She fed them all they could eat and on the following day was rewarded with twenty eggs. The hens kept increasing their production until they were laying one hundred per cent. Everyone was greatly surprised because the widow's hens certainly were not the best in appear- ance. But it was happening every day, the twenty-four hens laid twenty-four eggs. Mrs. McCarty noticed that her son Sam was absent from home every day at noon. A suspicion formed in her mind and one day she followed him. He went straight to her own hen-house, gathered twenty-four eggs and deposited them in the widow's hen house. Mrs. McCarty was angry. She found the widow in the kitchen, and was about to address her, when the widow exclaimed, Oh, Mrs. McCarty, the poultry man of the South Side says rny hens are record breakers, and he has given me 3510.00 apiece for them. Mrs. McCarty did not have the heart to expose Sam,s de- ception. THE RAILWAY STATICN GEORGE Woon The darkness brings no quiet here, the light no waking, Ever on my blinded b-rain the flare of lights, the rush and ery and strain 5 The engilze's scream, the hiss and thunder smite g I see the hurrying crowds, the clasp, the flight. Faces that touch, eyes that are dim with pain, I see the hoarse wheels turn, and the great train Moves laboring out into the bourueless night. So many souls within its dirn recesses, So -many bright, so many mournful eyes, Mine eyes that watch grow with dreams and guesses, What threads of life, what hidden histories, What sweet or passionate or dark distresses, What unknown thoughts, what various agonies.

Page 102 text:

0 THAT THREE YEAR OLD BY LILLIAN JANE TI-IOlXfIPSON Who runs about the house all :lay Anil tortures mother all clay long? Who's always ha p py-always gay? That three-year olel. To whonz aloes this little tot belong Who breaks her toys n p clnring play? Whose little temple gets too strong? Wfho is the pet in that house, say? Although she often floes a wrong, YVho always has her own sweet way? That three-year olrl. PIPES O' PAN PEGGY MGLAUGHLIN Oh, the pipes 0' Pan are ealling in the breeze, Can't you see hinz dancing, playing 'miil the trees? His pipes are fall o' laughter, and they're fall o' love anel play. Oh, ean't you hear hiin calling in the twilight of the elay? When the pipes o' Pan are calling then I'll list, For I know to 'ine he's playing, and I wist That his pipes are love and sorrow anal they're soinetin-zes fnll 0, pain When the shaelows eonze 0' claneing clown the lane, Or when nzisty zlays bring eehoes in the rain, Then the pipes o' Pan are flnting ronnclecl notes apart, Anal no more 1,11 be a weeping, for there's joy in my heart. THE CATTLE COUNTRY GEORGE XVOOD Up the elnslz en folrleil prairie, Footfalls soft and sly, Velvet ezishionetl, wilal anzl wary, Then-the Coyotes' ery. Rush of hoofs and roar and rattle Beasts of blood ana' breeil Twenty thozisanel frightened' cattle, Then-the wilcl stanzpeele.