Luther Burbank Middle School - Genius Yearbook (Los Angeles, CA)

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THE LEGEND OF MIRAGE VALLEY A dusty caravan rumbled along the wheel-worn trail. The heat was intolerable. It was reflected from a midday sun shining down from a clear sky. The unshod oxen moved slowly. Inside the wagon a man and his wife and two stalwart lads sat, sweltering with the heat. They were all that was left of six caravans which had broken away from the main party. Far to the south the snow-capped mountains could be seen. The water was gone, it had been gone for two days. None of the small band expected ever to reach its destin- ation. . Suddenly, the man shouted, Look! Other members of the party strained their weary eyes. A surge of hope rushed through the tired, careworn bod- ies. Water! Water! The little group pushed forward. The sun no longer seemed hot. The sands were dry no longer. The only thought was of the water towards which all eyes were turned. As suddenly as it had appeared, the water vanished. Hope was gone as quickly as it had come. The little party was doomed. The years rolled by: summer and winter left their effect upon the remains. More years passed by, and a pair of weary traveleres in a rickety Ford came chugging along the dusty road that lead across the dessert. They were both young, dusty, and travel worn. Canteens were hung from the sides of the car. The car stopped, and the men stepped out. There ought to be water here, somewhere, said one. Yep, replied the other. There had. . The men in the act of pulling 'out their picks, uncovered some bleached bones,presumably those of oxen. And as they dug down for the water, they came upon more bones, those of human beings. Later they came upon the rusted parts of an old wagon. When one of the men had dug to the depth of about four feet, he shouted, Here is water, closer than we thought. A while later on, as they were resting, they surveyed the bleached bones. It's queer, the digger said, how people can get so close to something and l'1Ot know it.', Kenneth Burnham, A9 ' czoeczz- EVENING IN THE DESERT Evening in the desert is a most delightful thingg It always seems so restful and so inspiring. Ilove the queer old Joshua trees, That like guardian angels stands - Around our camp, upon the mounds, And o'er the billowing sands. First, you hear the lonely coyotes, And then the birds of night. Evening on the desert is a world full ofdelight. Doris McMurray, A9

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THE PHANTOM SHIP An old ship rolls out on the sea With big waves breaking on her leap She rolled in glory years ago, From the sunny South to the icy fioe. The phantom sailors on her ghostly decks, With misty canvas and powder peeks, And the big, high canvas a-swishing, For the tune of the waves, the decks a-washing Oh, never will I ever forget that trip, When we saw the ghostly Phantom Ship: And when my children are on my knee, I'll tell them about that trip to sea. Edgar Wiley, B8 - LORD OF THE ALLEY Old Tom is the lord of the alley: No others dispute this right, For they know he can always sally Forth ready to start a fight. Now he parades up and down the fence A-singin' with all his might. From a window an angry voice comes hence, Are you gonna' be yawlin' all night? A shoe comes whistling thru the airg Old Tom is stopping his rally, But as he slinks away to his lair, He knows he's still lord of the alley. Bob Harmon, A9 -:'l00 THE SAME The same wind blows now through the trees 'That blew o'er pirates of old. The same sun climbs up in the sky That shone on knights so bold. The same moon lends its lighting beams As shone so long ago. The earth still goes round and round- The same God keep it so. Margaret Key, A9

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THE APPLE BLOSSOM Said one white daisy to another, This is most unusual, funny weather: Right beneath this apple tree A big white snowflake fell on me. The other daisy laughed and said, I think, if you would raise your head And look above us, you would know, The apple blossoms fall like snow. Shirley Matthews, B8 -I'-1'S.PQJ WHAT I THINK OF DEATH We do not know what death is. Each one has a different idea. But I think we all want to do what is right so that when death comes, we can go on living still better lives. I think the most beautiful account of what death is I read the other day after the great inventor, Thos. A. Edison, died. He was sitting in his chair and his face became so calm, his eyes shone so beautifully, and he said, It is beautiful over there. I love to think that is the way it is. My father is dead, and it is nice to think he is in just such a beautiful place waiting for us. Jacqueline Adams, B7 coE::- MEMORIES Your picture to me is a sweet memory, As I think of the day that we met-- When I sat on your knee 'neath the old apple tree: Those daysl shall never forget. Our love dreams are faded and gone. Your dear face I shall never more see: But I'll clasp to my heart, and I'll never part With that picture that seems dear to me. I long for those bygone 'days That we spent 'neath the old apple tree. Where the sun sent its long, golden rays Shining on you and on me. Those hours are gone now foreverg You've forgotten since we're far apartg Yet I hold your picture tightly And keep it close to my heart. Annabell Gilmer