Masconomet Regional High School - Mitobo Yearbook (Boxford, MA)

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stay - - fly with me Jill Folsom i know these mountain -tops well this rock this sturdy mountain goat this stunted tree this fallow slope i want to soar alone with you among these stable peaks, stay -- fly with me -- we can circle and curve with the stately eagle or cavort among the swallows or hide in altocumulous images. but don ' t let me fall into the shadowed valleys -- come back --in those deep ravines black thunderous rivers stream by. i ' m afraid of what lurks below -- let ' s go back up to the clouds. Wounded skies bleed smog Obscuring vision and conscience. Death ' s black barrels aim skyward. And so it persists . i ' m afraid. Sonnet Nancy Clark If in your life you ' d found you ' d done the best, No doubt, they said, you ' d done the very most, Perhaps you ' d find it easier to coast, And let past honors buoy you as you rest. But as all others you will face more test Against the bragging claims of each new boast. If you should lose, your past is but a ghost, Tossed pale and weak beneath the current crest. So churches rise to nearer meet the sky, Succeeding spires each shadowing the last. The marksman aims to shoot hawks as they fly, The runner strides to pace each race as fast. To sight, confront, to dare, compete, to try As ever better, so the mold is cast.

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too many questions by Pam Salisbury what ' s important in our existence: blind following -- or quiet resistance? who ' s to say where it all goes? who has authority? who knows? which is which: cold or cool? innocent suggestion -- or absolute rule? so many people with an empty head, unborn living, living dead. haiku by Sharon Jackman The petals of the Flower that is Man will wilt Slowly, not explode. haiku by Theresa Cavanaugh When fire and snow meet There must be a reaction Water or ashes . 20

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hope by Sally Cargill Hope for that happening even if it rains a small bit of rain will revive us no matter. Please let it happen . . . still if we swing and listen the ties may break The trees are growing overhead. moffat ' s skiff by Andrew Shepard In Moffat ' s field, above the tide, A stillness in the swaying grass, Betrayed a place the old man tried To hide his skiff ’til winter passed. ’Twas overturned in Moffat ' s field, All matted with a pungent slime, That carried on a dying breeze. It clung there since last summertime. The ancient wood was weathered gray -- Or painted with a lay ' r that grew To just what thickness who could say? And which was stronger of the two? The pine is soft and paint flakes off And which is stronger of the two? I