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

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OAK LEAVES 1943 GREETINGS! MY CITY You with tall, gray skyscrapers,-noisy, crowded streets and squalid dwelling places Where hundreds ar-e starved and evil is bred, You with avenues and parks for the wealthy, Glittering shops, and gayety, and laughter, You with vast steel underground networks connecting island to island. You with your snobberies and palaces, Your collections of world treasures, Your vices set against your virtues-a painted face hiding a soiled soul. Who are you ? I cry. The answer comes from my inner heart, My city, my beloved city. EVELYN FRANZ, '43 THOUGHTS: FROM PIECES IN THE SKY Oh God, what is this thing I feel? Why does it hurt to see other happiness Or wondrous things like clouds, that roll Across the endless sky and need no help? I look up and see again those clouds, I gaze at their white against the blue Until it hurts and I can s-ee the earth no more. They are like great souls cast upon the sky, The sun, like Thee, is in them, They surround it and still it shines through making them so pure That I am blinded and can only hide my faceg On, on they go across the sky before the sun Still and slow, for they have all eternity. 21 I JILL LAMARCHE, '43

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OAK LEAVES 1943 PINK APPLE BLOSSOMS AGAINST TURQUOISE SKIES AND GIRLS WITH HORSES THEY LOVE, MAKE AN IDYLLIC SPRING AFTERNOON. GLORY OF THE DARK My eyes grew dull from gazing at the sun. I lost its brilliant gold and all was black, So I will watch awhile a star That is the glory of the dark,- A gentler beauty mild and cool, To sooth my soul seared by ambition's Hame. JOAN PERRY, '43. JOY OF SPEED He stood on the top of a snow-covered hill adjusting his ski harness. With a friendly grip on his poles, he stooped a little and gave a gentle push. For a moment he poised like an eagle in flight, then shot down the hill into space. Wind whipped at his face as he swung his balance first to the right and then to the left, around the clump of birches and past the tall spruce. The wooden bridge flashed in sight to be left behind with the whistle of the Wind and a flurry of snowflakes. On and on, faster and faster, he slipped through the open bars of an old fence and glided on. Suddenly the hill flattened gently out, the wind stopped whistling past his ears, he glided to a triumphant standstill, turned to survey the path of his swift descent and after a moment's joyous long breath, he turned and started up the long winding trail. H. M., '44, 20

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OAK LEAVES 1943 REFLECTIONS FROM A HIGH CLIFF The bay is a motionless, blue-green sheet of glass. Clean white sand curv-es serenely in a crescent border far below. It is a radiant day with the sun's gold across the water. Fluffy white clouds drift over th-e blue sky as lovers to a dreamy waltz. Up over the horizon, with her white sails billow- ing in a light puf, appears the White Swan . She skims noiselessly to- ward the bay, th-en glides away, without a sound, as she had appeared. What a peaceful picture in a world of unrest and turmoil. P. NIXON, '44, ON TURTLES On sunny days, turtles are slower than usual, and scarcely have the en- ergy to even plod. I guess it's because they hav-e to carry their own houses wherever they go that makes them such lazy, lagging creatures. They're never in a hurry and couldn't be if they tried, they get places only because they don't have to go home, but can just keep dragging along stopping when they please. I guess they're sort of vagabonds always wandering but nev-er getting anywhere. , NANCY FARR, '44. ALL THESE I LOVE I love to hear the wind sweeping through tall pines, to watch the dark masses of storm clouds as th-ey rapidly devour the peaceful blue sky and to feel the beat of the heavy rain-drops as they fall. I love to listen to a symphony at times gloriously, deafeningly loud-in- toxicating me with joy and sadness combined, then fading away like a sunset to a part so delicate and fine that my heart leaps into my throat and chokes me with ecstacy. But what I love most is a horse,-a warm comrade, faithful, fearless and beautiful in his youth and might, a horse who feels your every mood, in whos-e deep eyes you can find sympathy and lov-e, a horse who greets you with -eager eye and quivering nostrils, always ready to be ridden and whose mighty power surges up through you, an intelligent horse who can pick his way safely along any dark trail. A spirited horse, eager for any- thing, his mighty heart not knowing fear. All these I love. S., '44. 22