Oak Grove Coburn High School - Oak Leaves Yearbook (Vassalboro, ME)

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OAK LEAVES 1943 YEARNINGS These things I have craved, skimming under billowing white sails, a long blue-green ocean topped with foaming white-caps, heeling while a thin spray rolls on the deck and then recoils, day dreaming on a soft sandy beach under a summer sun with nothing save fluffy clouds in the blue sky above, diving into cool fresh water from the still, sultry air of a hot sum- mer's day, lying at evening midst the smell of pine to hear the evening song of birds, a crimson sunset stretching as far as the ieye can see, twink- ling little stars above tall pines in winter, relaxing by a fireside when the air still carries a whiff of cooking long since done and Watching the fire slowly change to glowing embers. These things also I have desired, skiing cross country on fresh snow which sparkles in the warm sunlight and blazing a new trail through fir trees laden down with snow, skating endlessly to a soft and dreamy Strauss waltz with never a care in the world, warming myself by a crackling fire of dried pine cones, and tingling all over from the sensation of warmth after crisp cold, seeing the light snow sifting carelessly here and there be- yond my window on a moonlight evening with the cool night air iiowing into my room while I, myself, am comfortable, secure and peaceful. P. N., '44. 1 REMEMBRANCES Now that I think back- Funny how you left that morn, A wink in your eye, and a wave of hand And th-en you hopped on the train. I wasn't happy then- I knew t'would be a long time Before I would see you again- But I would never cry. I miss your face And your boyish laughter-- The sparkles in your eye- Those things will come again, And I feel that God did it- Just to test our love. C. R., 46. 17

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OAK LEAVES 1943 ROSEMERE BROOK WHERE XWE WADE IN THE SPRING AND SKATE IN THE WINTER THESE I HAVE LOVED The clop, clop of horses as they trot down a country laneg the smell after rain of a freshly mown lawng the motley crowds at a fair, all laugh- ing and gayg the soft spray of the salty sea and the foamy surf that the wind blows awayg the early screech of a circling gull at dawng the grace- ful majesty of oaks on a hillg the lonesome creak of a forgotten windmill as the breeze passes by with no thought to stayg great white clouds, airy and soft as they float above tall pinesg the warm friendliness of sweet hay in a loft, not caring how much you jump on itg th-e cool sparkling water of a brook in the spring when the wind blown fields are gay with swaying flowersg the crackling of wood in the fireplace and the calm atmosphere that goes with home. These things I love. N. F., '44, 19