Oakfield Alabama High School - Oracle Yearbook (Oakfield, NY)

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LITERATURE A Poem I'm supposed to write a poem, And, of course it ought to rhyme, But I just sit here thinking, Mother says I'm killing timeg But perhaps if she were to write it She, too, might change her mind. When I want to write a poem Somehow my brain won't work, But I know that I shall have to try And it will do no good to shirk. It isn't very long you see, But I can't help the size, I've tried so hard, and have done my best So please don't criticize? Betty Greene, English I iQ-- A Sophomore's Perplexity I woke up this morning at break of dawn, To fume at the neighbor for mowing his lawn, Doesn't this seem to be always the way? The lawn must be mowed on Saturday. I pull down the shade and plunge back in bed Punch up the pillow and bury my head, Do what I will it just doesn't matter, I can't get away from that lawn mower chatter. If the lawn could be moved between eleven and noon, I would,n't be wakened from sleep quite so soon, Now, you see a Sophomore's life isn't honey and, pie, The Oracle Staff is waiting for this, so Goodbye. Dorothy Mullaney, English II l... The Musicians In this great orchestra which is life, To each of us is given a page of notes to play. Low notes-notes of sadness, lingering and unsweetg High notes-those of pleasure, gay and light. We musicians, uncontent as we are, ' To follow as the Master would lead- Insist on playing those notes of pleasure, only to find, The sweet music of our great orchestra soon discorded by our mistake Were each of us poor musicians able, To carry our part in harmony and time . This worl-d would ever be free from wrong! Celia Nagel, English IV 23

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LITERATURE Sitting Around On Sunday Most depressing, is it not? Also terribly boring, This sitting in perfect idleness When it's Sunday afternoon. The sky is overcast with clouds The gloom inva-des Not only my humble domicile, But my mind as well. I hate a Sunday Afternoon. Buddy Traver, English I Beyond That Curtain Beyond, that curtain of black, are the many wonders of life, The The The good and the bad, the work and strife birds and the bees are all near me streams, the ocean, the sea- But, alas, that curtain of black From me, all the real treasure of life, holds back. Betty Jordan, English II l..., Bridges We all are building bridges, Across the great divide, They reach from earth to heaven, When in dreamland, we abide. At times our bridges topple, They seem to rock and sway, A storm or a tempest, Would sweep our bridge away. Our summer turns to autumn, Our teardrops fall like rain, By friends, we seem forsaken, Our bridge is cleft in twain. Pick up your bolts and rivets, Just build the span anew, Then friends, and love and laughter, Will cross your bridge with you. Phyllis Wilder, JI English IV

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LITERATURE Rescued Trapped in an underground tunnel, Cut off from the rest of the world, Two out of three were waitingg For death or rescue to draw near. Already one of them had perished, Had entered a newer world, Increasing the misery and suffering, Of the two who offered prayer. Their minds were growing hazy, They crazily walked the floor, Only God knows the agony they suffered, The hardships they endured. After nine days of torture, Rescue broke through from above, Blindfolded the two in the darkness, Carried them out to the light above. Newspapers ran extras, Radios blared it forth, Thrilling the listening nation, For the news they had waited hours for. Probably it will never be forgotten, The rescue of these two men, Of how they had, kept their courage, In a tomb where death had assumed command Clifford Long English IV Q . March March is a month of real variety, As she dances in her special way With the elements, weather, and society Blowing, snowing, raining, and shining gay Yesterday the sun was very bright, And birds, buds, and kites at ease But again today it is fluffy white, Another gale is rocking all trees. In dreams, study, wonder, work, and play Most is wonder what tomorrow brings Whether the rain, sun or wind will say, Who fights, trees, animals, or bird sings Arthur Parsons English IV 29