Pennell Institute - Whirlpool Yearbook (Gray, ME)

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AN ANNIVERSARY THE CRISIS (With apolozios to OzGen Nash) : The day was cold and reiny, To-day I an sixtcon and three-fourths © Tho fiell was like a lake, “ours ole Mac veotors sf the homo team a es ag 5 : aiteeee atest it Quite a timo sirco Iias born Rero proying Yor a “break’ . I shall vrobab}y be much moro bold ¥hon tyvico that timo is gono. Tho scovnbonri like a toinh:-tone, Re Piac it seoned ho haunt, Vhen I look out my window, the dew Tao coachlike meseaye chat it told, 3s cn th: levn Mado tho saptuin's face scom gaurt. Good old cow Good old lam Mo cnliad his mon together You've Instod sixteen yoars sinco And taid thon what to de. 1 was born funy -comt basic te thoir positions ; Determined the play go through. And look! the hen's on hor nest Good old hen In frenu of the webl of flesh Gooe old nest The meekly work wes dono. You've worked many yoars and done Tie Captain crossed vine goal lino; your best. And the rard«played gamo was soles - Rubort 'hibedeau All's right with tho vorld Gcorgo DoLorae Good will toverd man Co-duthors. And fromrow on 4 22 ———s—s—ses et a tee ae or ee eaout Do the best you cari. LAPI¥ (£ Titlo) Seroly vou have loarnod of Jason The fellow who sought tho golden fiecce And alse how Tacsar congucrod Gaul Atmexot it, piosd oy piecKo. ( born with a Boston accent) --Anthony Eaton '38. ee wr ee ee mere FISHING Silen t aro the fcrests Pouch have provanly steuggbed o'or liurmuring is tre crook, Some moan, hard translation A bey clore is tramping Ta Which J.Caceur did always soar ¥Vith a fishing polo and hool:. Lbovre come Gaelic novaions. It's oarly in the norming, 2nd whon VOD Ne ioxcod him through All is qciot ana serene pore fust ord svits parsuit ; As a carviree voy ects out ae es would be onnier, ee. know To fish the nearby strooris To tiko tic seme darn rowsoe , eeAnthony Eaton! 40 The sum is high chovo, aa es Evorytody's getting up Tin ELSTGR SEASON The boy roturns to preaxfest With « vaticent fishor's luck. Oh, giovious Fostor season, fho buccing of tino year, fou aro the vcry reason it thi it i i vt : Nony think that it is boring, we heve so much of checr. Many slad wien it is donc, But to tio naturv loving mon You cone whoa wintor's ondoed, Fishing's owtdoor sport ond fun, You bring us joy for griof, % and now our songs aro blcondod In hap; 2h --8, Thibodeau, happy, swoct relicf And in comnonmoration C- = Of my Lord, who fought and won, aE Te Te It]l add my acmiration For the wondrcus work Ho's done, -J. Hloiso Russcll, '36

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RELSOR (With anologies to Shokesveare) The quality of reason is not strained It droppoeth as a great firm hand of order Upon the place benenth it: it is tvricu liked is liked by him that gives, and hin that takes: 'Tis mightiest in the schoolroou, it vecomes i. diplomatic ruler better thon a rod Its sceptre shovrs the force of reasoning powers an attributa to faith and lovalty Wherein doth sit tho dread and fear of the wnruly For Pennell is obove the unwise way It is onthroned in the hearts of teachers It is an attribute to itinerva hersolf fn earthly power deth thor show likest hers Yhen roason seasons justice. --Jeanette Harmon, '37 Do you wonder I am downcast? I am foeble, old and groy My children are all grovm up And hove both gone far avayo I like to wonder back To tho time when I was young Of on evoning by the fireplace Whore the songs were nightly simg. I would often tell a story To the children on my knee But Jonnny went to war And Charlie went to sea. Aad now that I have told you Youtll not wonder vhy I'm drear For I have weitod patiently For many a weary yearo For I want to see my children And to clasp thom by the hmd For I want to stay thore evor And to join their angei band. -- Jeanette Harmon '37 LOST FRIEND Throughout the years she'd lived there Vo built a friendly line, A narrow curving pathway From her back door to mine Sometimes she'd leave hor cooking To come and sew with me; And once I went to borrow Her favorite recipe. She brought me seeds in spring To start a flower beds: And ofton ofter baking I'd take her ginger broad. I miss her lovely footsteps And wonder since she's gone, If my new next-door noighbor Will want a pathless lawn. -Estelle Lawronce.

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WHEN SPRING HAS COME Vhon tho snow is gono and the spring is horo find tho sun and tho rain havo dono their part, To start th» buds on tho troectops noar, And joy suffusus onch creaturots heart. The squirrel goos out on his search for food, The Rotin cores back to his Northern hone; The farmer, who's cutting his summer's wood, Looks forward to vloving his furtilo loam. Fir away tho call of « pvoc-wee sounds, The birds lint worms with thoir tiny bills Tho frost is nearly zono from tho ground, r For spring has come to Now England hills. - Marvin liqnrmon '36 WITH APOLOGIES TO PSALM 23 Tho toachor is my pct gricvanco; He maketh mo to study text books wnon I would rathor play; Ho leadoth imo alongs the torturous paths of lcarning, through language and history classas, Ho quioteth my voico whon I want to whisror; he trios to instil knowlcdge into my hued. at loast a littlo, for his nanots sako; Yon, though Itvo suffored through fow leong yoars, my hoart is lightor with vacation drawing nearor; for ho and i and school will soon he parted; nis assignments and his tests will bother me no longor. On graduation dey they will preparoth a banquct for Scniors, and in the prosenco of mino onomy, tho toachecr, I will choor to think that he and his boring books bclorg to the past, ho might throw a glass of wetor over imc, but rovenge is sweot. Suroly joy and froedom shall dwell always with mc, whon no longer nustoI spend my years within school doors. -- Betty Knudsen, '36. TO THE FUTURE Grith apologies to Shake spsare) Oh gracious schvoli aro wo to loave thee soon? Arc x13 thy conquosts, glorics, momorics, joys, To bo loft bohind us? Faro thoc woll! I Imow not, fucuru, what you hold Whnut olse must bo in store, wnnt olso to como; if vo cursolvos, thore is no thing so fit As furthor oducntioral opportunitios, nor no instrumont Of haif that wort: as thoso its bocks, made rich With tho most noblo words of all this world. Wo do bosooch yc, if you boar us hard, Now, whilst wo foul tho urgo for succoss and wealth, Fulfil your duty. Livo a thousand yoars, Wo shall not find ourselves so apt to climb: No plnco will ploaso us so, no moan of work As in a colloge or position, and by you cut off, Tho choico and mastor spirits of this ngoe --Norma Princo, '36,.