Harmony High School - The Ferguson Yearbook (Harmony, ME)

Page 27 text:

A JOURNEY S DESTINCTION He walked alone for hours Along the flowered lane Moving here and there a rock With his old knotted cane HIS head was bent and gray Crowned by a hat, old and worn The coat he wore was stately clean Though aged and badly torn As the old man passed by The flowers bowed 1n grace The1r beauty threw a look Of Joy upon h1s aged face Then at last he passed a brook And sat beneath a tree In qu1et peace he looked far away Beyond all the world he seemed to see Later far off 1n the busy v1llage The town clock struck the hour of four Then young and old al1ke bowed the1r heads Know1ng a klnd man would come no more Starr Mxtchell 49 RAINBOW OF HAPPINESS Oh you can weave your self a ralnbow gay Of reds and golds shot through w1th grey And 1f you weave It clean and br1ght W1th hope and fa1th and love s soft hght At the end, w1th1n the pot you ll f1nd All the golden r1ches of just belng kmd, Quentm M1tchell Jr 49 If I was a poet I d wr1te a poem but l'm not and I m sure you all know lt It 15 eas1er for me to stand on my head than to play at bemg a poet I ve racked my bra1n t1ll lt s just a blank but the poetry I get 15 ml I ve tr1ed and trxed t1ll I almost Crled perhaps I should take a p1ll Some folks do 1t why can t I7 It really seems a shame In sp1te of all I try to do It never 15 the same Then' lxnes all seem to end just r1ght but 1n splte of all I do Mme always seem to be a fr1ght and I ll bet you th1nk so too Calvln H1lton 50 Z3 MY POETRY

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I M NOT A POET A poem 15 one th1ng that I can t wr1te I th1nk and thmk and try all n1ght But 1n the mormng, when the sun comes I ve got a poem that takes the cup It has no verse, lt has no rhyme But that s all r1ght I do It all the tlme And when 1ts tune to pass th1s 1n No teachers praxse do I expect to w1n D1ck Munger GRAVEYARD F OLLIES The graveyard lay m s1lence The color of the gravestones l1ght Whxle the tomb 1n the left hand corner a ghostly gr ay 1n the mght The w1nd mourned among the trees, A gentle but haunted song and the mus1c was gone Now came a loud rumble as the graves all opened w1de Out from the deep holes 1n the Ghosts seemed to gl1de earth Some were short and broad whlle others tall and sllm, Danclng m the moonl1ght around a blg graves nm They floated around like huge shadows danc1ng on boney feet I, cl1ng1ng to the graveyard fence, felt sort of dazed and weak Suddenly they enclosed a grave and swaymg mn the breeze Sang a bewrtchxng song that made my own blood freeze I watched w1th ternfxed eyes as they turned toward me the1r faces Then slowly they looked at the ground and sank xnto the1r usual places The wmd mourned among the trees 1ts own ghost s specxal song The graveyard folhes over, I turned and hurrzed on up, 5 Velma Alton 50 ZZ Q . . , . S U ' : , . . . I u I . , 0 This was followed by a silence I I 9 I . I . , . ' 9 I

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HARMONY HIGH Up past the stores and the garage and on the left hand s1de Is a bxg cream colored bu1ld1ng to whxch ch11dren on buses r1de At the f1rst call of the b1g brass bell there s a mad rush for the door Up the staxrs we kxds go and stop on the second floor The mam room 15 qumte large lt has seats for forty or more For years thxs room has been used you can tell by the looks of the floor Our desks have carved decoratlons and tell romances from the past The spaces that weren t used are now f11l1ng 1n fast Down front IS a large desk with a funny old squeaky chaxr and he 15 usually there The wmdow shades are sometunes rooked but It s not the1r fault at all, For the tugs and pulls they get are enough to make any shade Almost leave the wall There s the old piano, rlght by the door It stands The key s are worn down by many kxnds of hands Th1s 1sn't all there xs, and 11' the rooms could talk They would tell a lot of thxngs that we would rather not Now I m a Jumor and the last year is 1n sxght I s1t and wonder why The happy days have to end at dear old Harmony Hxgh Velma Alton 50 TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN In the Good Book of Books It goes on to say The world s got no use for crooks And for every sm you pay Z4 I U l i I I O This is Mr. Murray's . . C . , . I . . , I , . . I ll ' ll I I