Hamden Hall Country Day School - Perennial Pine Yearbook (New Haven, CT)

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PEARL HARBOR Listen, my children, I'll tell you quick Of the pleasure flight of Ray Euduick, That lovely Hawaiian dawn, rememher? The morn of the seventh day of December. On Sunday morn Ray loved to fly Up in the blue Pacific sky, Free from his work and many duties, Enjoying flight in a world of beauties. As he circled above the city quaint ' That many an artist had tried to paint, Below him people lay wrapped in sleep, While sentries paced, their watch to keep. Pearl Harbor lay peaceful with many great ships Trustingly anchored after long trips. ' As he turned his plane and steered southeast, The sign of Diamond Head sharply increased. HGreat old sentinel, that,H he thought, nHow many battles has she fought?N ' As he gracefully soared into glorious morning, There was never a fear in his heart, or a warning Till in the distance he saw black spots Scarcely larger than tiny dots. But from dots to planes they so quickly grew That fear flooded his heart through and through. Quickly he turned about his plane, Dashing for home, when he felt a sharp paing A warm stream down his ann now came, And rows of holes appeared in his plane. HThe Japs are coming, they're herein he cried As he landed his plane on its twisted side. And so, my children, I've told you quick Of the pleasure flight of Ray Buduick, That lovely Hawaiian dawn, remember? The dawn of the seventh day of December. Jean McCurdy, '42 TEMPTATION I often wonder who they are And what their names could be. Shall I add my initials there For everyone to see? The top of my desk is covered with marks and lines galore, Should I yield to wicked temptation And mark on it some more? Rosalie Thalheimer, '42

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X I've been told that it isn't the wind now but windg It must be that way to be rhymed with confined. And although the reason is out of my mind, It's all in poetic license. Take a word such as hearth and change it to herthg Then rhyme it with anything - girth, birth, or mirth. Though it still seems to be of a much lesser worth, It's yours by poetic license. It's strange that such poets as Byron and Gray Consented to use such a means to convey Poetic thoughts which should have been easy to say. But they had poetic license. Now we struggle with rhyme schemes, meters, and such, Wondering what to say, when, and how much. But And The And And For if in a tight spot, there's one thing we clutch - that's the poetic license. Betty Judd, '42 THE DESTRUCTION OF A SUNDAY DRIVER WITH APOLOGIES TO BYRON Cadillac roared down like a wolf on the fold, its fenders were crumpled although they weren't the sheen of the paint was a sad thing to see, the last close escape had involved a large tree. old Like a cyclone he tore in his shiny machineg That flash in his glory at sunset was seen. Like a cyclone exhausted, its fury all spent, That flash on the morrow lay battered and bent. For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of that flash as he passed. For at eighty he found that the curve was too sharp, Though he's dead we are sure he's not playing a harp. And there lay the car with its fenders all smashed, Both the headlights in splinters, the body quite mashed But Was And For the worst thing of all in this bad accident the four blown-out tires, o'er their loss we lament there lay the menace distorted and pale, another wild driver the end of the trail. And though the First Aid Corps would not give up hope, It was plain he had come to the end of his rope. Now the drivers on Sunday are loud in their joy, For no more would that madman their safety destroy. Only one in the world did his passing dismayg 'Twas the dealer who'd lent him the car for the day. Martha May, '42