Northwestern High School - Norwester Yearbook (Detroit, MI)

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PUSHKIN AND I CA FRAGMENTJ What is Spring to me? Thaw is a bore: mud running thick and stinking -- Spring makes me ill: my mind is never free From dizzy dreams, my blood's in constant ferment. IMAGINATION The sky is now the clear, cool sea. The stars are fishes swimming about. The moon is an island, miraculously. The sky is now the clear, cool sea. These wonderful things simply fascinate me. Preponderous things from the real world without. The stars are fishes swimming about. After the shower the breeze shakes silver bubbles of raindrops from the trees: their budding branches spin a cobweb against the sky. Velvet violets in ruffs of green, peep from their mossy beds through the cracks in the rock garden: stalks of downy pussy willows dancing in the swirling breeze. As the sun rises to powder the world in misty sun- light, the blades of grass, a cluster of sparkling dew on each tip, look like diamond-headed hatpins. The stingingly fragrant jet-black earth feels moist and crumbly as it trickles through your fingers. The gentle breathing of the wind swings the bird- houses so that it looks as though the fluffy wrens sitting on their perches were rocking cradles in the trees. On a balmy day the cloudless heaven gleams like a dull amethyst. The air that bathes the earth is as cool and fresh as the crystal spray that dampens your face as you bend it over a mountain stream. Spring is the most hopeful of the seasons. Barbara Sherwood A WISH I wish that I might make a wish And keep it, too. It's not to be a little fish. I Wish that I might make a wish To be ice cream in a flowered dish Or maybe blue. I wish that I might make a wish And keep it, too. loan Petersen Billie Ieanne Taylor THE ENTHUSIAST I want to be So many things To penetrate the depths Of written words, Absorbing like a spring tonic Their hearty nourishment Into my hungry brain. To feel the cold shivering wind Kiss my face, and nestle snugly Against my body, As the steed beneath me Sails and soars On trodden earth. To hear melodious music Staring in humble silence At a glowing stage, Where figures and motions Are suspended In a sequence Of actions. To smell the summer's breeze, And walk alone in darkness, Singing to myself with open heart Of its ardent fragrance. To taste the sour apples, The bruised, imperfect circles Of gold, picked from abundant ground, Sucked with joy untold. Encircling the rhythmical motion I want to be Of dancing feet, When two forms are pressed Into one. X To see enlightened faces, A lover of many things, An enthusiast, The best to be of all. Phyllis Strong

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