London Central Secondary School - Golden Glimpses Yearbook (London, Ontario Canada)

Page 69 text:

SOUTH OF MARCH I ' ve been thinking about where I ' d like to go when I get the time I ' ve been thinking about where I ' d like to go when I get a dime Been thinking about a fantasy, realized in dreams Dreaming about the South of March But there is no reality in dreams Been sitting here looking out waiting for the sun to rise Been sitting here waiting for this sunshine in my eyes Been waiting for the final words words that say I ' m free Free to go to the South of March But there is no reality in words. Now I suppose the cold just before the dawn is gone And the swallows have all flown back back where they belong And when everything that ' s out of place is back where it should be Then I suppose I ' ll be in the South of March And I believe there is reality in peace Peace and love live in the South of March Doug Agnew

Page 68 text:

THE MOLE ' S STORY Long ago, certainly long before Man, we Moles stood ten feet tall and roamed the earth on our hind feet. And we roamed the lands as their master, for we were strong, and endowed with a mind capable of the most insidious cunning. None of the other animals could challenge our awesome combination of tal- ents, and the Mole was able to dominate and take all he wanted of the earth ' s luxuries. Secure in our existence, we expanded into the far reaches of the world, self - righteously flaunting our empire for all to see and admire. The Mole was truly eternal, beautiful, perfect, absolute, invinci- ble. The earth and all contained therein existed solely for the Mole. Finally the world was completely conquered. But many of the Moles discovered that a few of their number had more than they. This was an outrageous violation, as EVERY Mole deserved the most of the best. And we turned against one another and began destroying each other for our own possessions. The tragic conflict progressed, Mole mind pitted against Mole mind, Mole strength against Mole strength, until from sheer exhaustion, the mighty turmoil ceased. The other animals acted decisively, for in our weakened condition we could no longer defend our- selves or our empire. We were harassed and driven from all we had taken. Our cries of indignation were thrust aside as had the cries of the other animals been ignored when we established our empire. The ani- mosity of the other animals was unbearable. Under the constant bombardment of hate our bodies shrank drastically. Our vicious bearing was forced to waddle about on four short stubby feet. The greatest sorrow came when we were banished underground. Another chance? we begged. But no one trusted us and we had to remain in the dark dank impoverished earth. Our long wait is soon to end though and we rejoice. Of all the animals now, we fear only Man, and soon he will be banished as we were long ago. Then we will emerge and once again roam the earth, more wisely, less arrogantly, and sharing its enjoyments with all. Ken Lyon I can remember Walking up streets In the early morning, Drinking milk from bottles left on the steps Of the towering tenements. The sun crept cautiously Past the wrought iron of Kensington, Past the twisted stone of the palace, Past the century -old trivialities Of our Great Mother ' s castles. As children. We hated milk. But, when walking up streets, Trying to miss the cracks in the cement, And watching the sun rise through the bubbling glass Of the pint bottles, It was kind to our senses, And offered laughter to our guilt. Xenephon

Page 70 text:

v. v DIVINE JUSTICE Patrick von Aderkas The petals of the rose gentian floated down to the earth. So also must life when it is prematurely plucked , concluded the curate. He gazed in the direction of the village. Fortune had smiled most generously on him when the appointment to St. Ignatius was made. Indeed, what an idyllic village; nestled in the arms of the mountains, slumbering peacefully through the stormy seventh century. Trouble- free sighed the priest. He also served as judge, but in this passive social setting he spent most of the day communing with nature, for there was no demand for his services. On one such day, as he walked slowly up into the high pastures and pondered on the order of nature, a messenger stumbled through the grasses and fell before the curate. From a distance, he felt he heard mourning, and with the cry of murder from the running youth, the harmony of the surrounding was shatter- ed. The old priest, helped along by the boy, made his way into the hamlet, where a large crowd had gathered in front of the church. He learned that Figrelo, the wealthy village merchant, had been robbed and murdered on his way to market, only five hours earlier. They hastened to add that his two youthful lodgers. Franz and Martin, had not been seen since the foul deeds. The priest, realizing that there could be no crime without a criminal, soon began searching for the two. He searched in their homes but found nothing. Finally, late in the night he returned to the dead merchant ' s house and there he found the two, playing some variation of a memory game. Martin and Franz denied any knowledge of the murder, and claimed to have been at Foret, the neighbouring village. The shrewd priest, sensing this to be an untruthful story, had them both locked up in the deepest cells of the dungeon. The task of divising a conviction was the single greatest obstacle. Feeling just at heart, the curate felt that a just means of punishment must be devised. After many hours on end of pondering, re-examin- ing and doubly reconsidering, the judge could not originate any applicable wisdom of Solomon. In fact, he became extremely sceptical of his own capabilities as judge. He was incapable, so, he would leave it up to the Greatest of the Greatest Judges, GOD. How simple, and obvious, but yet so profound. N ow he need only wait for a sign. That night a dream came to him and throughout its passage a Moral Man indicated to his friend that the good way to judge a man was to have him re-enact his most recent dream. When he woke, struck by the logical soundness of this belief, the curate brought Franz out of the prison, and asked him of his dream. My dream , replied Franz was quite unusual. Why do you ask? Oh, I am very curious. replied the priest. I had been bound by these men, who laid me on the road on which the farmers travel each week to