Judyville High School - Jargon Yearbook (Judyville, IN)

Page 54 text:

755 f-'rye on Q '? L: d M4 U . 1 K' A . . , -- lfgax YFQIE JARGON Q -, K ...wgfgia J . ve? no UNM lla X 0 J' GE Q W Q 3Iuniur's jllilehitatiu 5 Q lYe're not getting richer in the sense of mintecl gulclg llut our minds are getting richer with the l'illUXVlCflg'C that they hulcl. lfur the joy of learning rleepenm with the passing uf the years: N Su we'll wait till we are nlcler lmefnre we start shefltling tears. Uh, we'll have nur share ul-U'lrl1lJlt', we shall sip life! hitter cup. 1 lint we'll he fillecl with knuwlerlge, i fur we are gruvving up. XYe're nut flune with yuutliful pleasures but we turn tu nther thingy There is smnething to he watcherl fur ' and there's smnething' just ahearlf .Xml we would rather seek for it than to think of lieing lecl. There are new things we have learnefl ancl clilterent things we like tu flu, And we final a thrill in living in a world that'5 ever new. livelyn litcliismi, 29. 'I' 'I' 'I' I think that l shall never see A thing as hateful as Geometry. lYith chords anfl arcs all clay l wrangle. Until at night l'in in a tangle. l .Xngles liisectefl, elwrrls inserilmefl, 'Til my ruler anfl euinpass are wrely triefl. Finding the values of X or H. ls all we do in tjeoinetry. Upon whose head a curse is lain, By students, often and again. ti N? , U Q3 But I m not the First nor last to lie, uf' A nervous wreck over Geometry. ' M P 0 kD Xi .1 K' . . Page fifty-one Ge'

Page 53 text:

'W'-is Q O, ,Q , -2-.D Zo A A , Q SLLAM' -1 ..-f F THE JARGON A ' i Q . ll! A Q tw Y M9 Q 0 mb G There are no poets in our house, No writers of song nor of verseg , But for English class I must have a poem. No doubt it will be very terse. i The poets have been writing for ages Of wind and sun and of snow. l As I sit and dream o'er their pages, I End out how little I know. Think of rhymes about men like Horatius, NYho stood against hordes of the foeg And little Miss Mulfet, good gracious. XYhat a spider to have frightened her so. Then there is the story of Miles Standish, Left talking' to a friend, like a jayg johnny boy double-crossed him out-landishg There are no Priseillas today. Wlhitcomb Riley, our own Hoosier poet, Vwlhose f'Old Swimming Hole you've readg And another, you all know it, Of the boy the Goblins took from his bed. A Bard with his reed and his lyre, Entertained kings with a song. But I'm afraid l'll rouse Professor Brewers ire, If I make this poem too long. Now, believe me, I'm not a poetess. My Verse and rhyme are too slow. I'd far rather hop in a Hivver, And herd it down town to a show. Sylvia N. Crow, '30. 4 Q3 d o I lf JI 92514 Page fifty

Page 55 text:

'55 0 0 .. 0' 2, 'X'-'P L' is Qc WD C6 QBur Slanitnr Have patience, friend, and read these lines clear tlnuugli, And in them I will try In intrnduee to yuu i Une nf the hest old scnuts who ever struck the placeg i ' Urine up sume time and meet him face to face. llis juli may he called humhle, hy many, 'tis true: Nevertheless he is a friend tu me and to you. i lle fills a ptist that calls fur vigilance and work, T .Xnd frmn his duties none ever knew him to shirk, The tasks he must do are nut always pleasant, we know- The Fire takes luts uf attentiun when wintry hlasts hlnwg The thaws and rains result in mud on careless feet, Hut each mnrning finds l:lutn's spotless and everything neat. XYhat with watching the clock and ringing the hell, .Xntl nther eliures sw numeruus l never cnuld tell: There is nn time fur lnafing fur this liusy gent, .Xncl frnm early murn 'til twilight his time is well spent. Now clon't try tu guess whe this paragun is- If you du we may tell you 'tis none of your biz. X llis namesake was Daniel of l.iuns' Den l7anie - .Xnrl Mr. .'xl'1l1Stl'Ullg' we call him, fur that is his name. Su here's tt, nur janitor ever alert XYith his dust rag going after the dirt. ll it wasn't for him and his pleasant smile, Our school days at ,ludyville wuuld he hardly worth while. So speak to him kindly and give him your hand- Nu hetter school, no hetter janitor, tlnmughout the hroad land. Q Sylvia N. Crow, '3O. it if Q I Faye fifty-two