Paris High School - Chronicle Yearbook (South Paris, ME)

Page 32 text:

LITERARY Withered leaves, shriveled leaves Large leaves, tiny leaves Bobbed buoyaptly up-and clown Unrestrained and unconcerned In the stilled silent waters, The waters of a lazy brook. The trees, their overhanging arms Reached out -1- over the water, Groping with closed, unseen eyes For the answer. What answer? Patches of mystified blue Spied playfully clown Casting their image now and then Through the whispering arms of the Overhanging boughs. Probing. Searching. But where will the answer lie? ln the sparkling mirror,- The mirror of a bab'ling brook? Stately shadows fall From the massive trunks of birch. The fleecy white masses at noonday Proiect from afar Their slowly wandering forms Against the quiet brook. The friendly yellow moon, The silver stars Glide swiftly, Shining brightly, On the wondering upturned face Of the baffled, bab'ling brook. Who are you? What do you want? What are you doing here? Do the answers lay hidden Among - The stilled silent waters Of the quiet lonely brook, --- The images of sorts and sizes Reflected on the face Of the quiet lonely brook? Wendy Sue Thompson

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First Row, Left to Right: R. Rideout, P. Ransley, G. Newton, C. Brown, A. Garland, M. Durgan, S. Welch, C. LaFrance, B. Bean. Second Row: C. LaBay, R. Cummings, M. Starbircl, A. Woodworth, R. Brown, J. Cummings, T. Heath, S. Bard. Third Row: L. Block, J. Wiley, L. Paine, F. Smith, S. Huotarl, M. Gayton, B. Loveioy, S. Curtis, F. Staley. Class Motto: The root of education is bitter but the fruit is sweet. Class Flower: Lily-of-the-valley. Class Colors: Black and Gold. First Row, Left to Right: S. Higgins, P. Cross, G. Curtis, M. Niskanen, G. Kilgore, D. Newell, P. Berube, W. Chapman, D. DeCato, L. Emmons. Second Row: M. McLaughlin, C. Cyr, L. Taylor, J. Moffett, R. Gove, S. Seilonen, P. Starbird, H. Lancaster, R. Kesseli. Third Row: L. Record, O. Pratt, E. Ronkko, R. Merrill, F. Hall, C. Martin, R. Springer, P. Colby. 27

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THE MEN IN THE TRENCH The decay and the stench, Reached the men in the trench, The men far away on that hot summer day. Some were old and worn, Like their clothes, were torn. But never a cry, norqa tear from the eye, Could be seen from these men in the trench. Theirs was the lot of a Sorry sort, as the fighting was going on. They lay in the waste, Ohl The rubble and waste, Beheld by the passerby. The war had no time, took no Trouble to find, a burial place Fit for these. This was a war of atoms and steel, Fought by men of political means. Uncle Sam and the Reds, Lay awake in their beds, as their Sons died for unknown dreams. Bruce Foster REMNANTS, FRAGMENTS lashing wildly, Angrily, the waves washed over the rocks. The weather-beaten boards Bobbed helplessly in the choppy sea. Those having gone before Are never to be seen again, They remain, memories. Rem na nts -- Fragments -- A faded torn cap, One shriveled, colorless shoe, A little rag doll, These precious articles lie Baking in the sun On the sandy shores - Never to be forgotten. While -- lashing wildly, Angrily, the waves washed over the rocks. The weather-beaten boards Bobbed helplessly in the choppy sea. Wendy Sue Thompson HILLS The rolling hills lie down at night And pull up quilts of starry light, With wind as pillows for their heads, Snug, an the ground they use for beds. ln country air, their sleep is sound, Then morning wakes them on its round And stretching, reaching for the sky They let the rising sun pass by. Betty Merrill STORM AT SEA The waves roar loud, the surf breaks high The misty spray forms fountains. The clouds are gray, the wind does sigh, As ships fight water mountains. The rain quite suddenly pours down, And vivid lightning flashes. The tide is high upon the shore, The storm in fury lashes. Warren Bryant MY HOME The gleamof snow reflecting the light Which shines through the curtains of lace Holds a hand of welcome out to me, And brings a smile in to my face. It's not that building, I say to myself, Not even the lights, I confide, All material things it surely can't be, lt's the love that awaits me inside. Carole Edwards JUST DO Just open-the door in the early morn, Just hear the brook ripple by, Just draw a deep breath, Just whistle a tune, Just let out a gentle sigh, Just look at the clear blue sky above, Just glance at the bees 'round their hives, Just start out your day With a song and a smile, Just thank God that you're alive-. Jackie Jackson