Petersburg High School - Missile Yearbook (Petersburg, VA)

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But who e'er saw the like of such a breast, 'Tis only proper then, that I repeat, Right- right, right-right, Right here! Men's Vanities have long my patience triedg I cannot fathom one who deems he's dear 5 I would not mar my race with foolish pride. Wait-harken now! Methinks someone is near, Right- right, right-right, Right here! My Piano My piano is to me A lovely little maid Who listens, oh so patiently, To everything I've said. Then in echoes soft and sweet My words return again. How tenderly she does repeat I-Ier confidante's refrain. It is to her I often go To ease my lonely heartg I know she'l1 comfort every Woe Before I can depart. Even though my heart is free And lighter than a feather, To her I go and share my glee So We can laugh together. To tell her all my woes and joys I touch her with my hands 3 Then I hear her gentle voice And know she understands. Pagesixtew THE MISSILE

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Shadows These I Have Loved By Nellie Burt Wr ght 'Twas yesterday we sawfthe shadows fall, With smiling lips and strangely raptured souls Together We adored the dusty pall Of twilight's ashes, spilled from glowing coals. We gazed bewildered on the starry face Of silent heaven-pale Diana's skiesg Our souls bound fast in ecstasy's embrace Unknowing caught a glimpse of Paradise. The sinking sun still casts its distant rays: The sky still burns, more lurid than before, Soft glimmering stars, the gems of yesterdays Are beaming yet, with brighter, softer lore. Today the somber world lies bleak and bare, The mocking shadows cry you are not there! The Cardinals Modesty When people pass and look into this tree CI don't know how they know that I am here! But yet they stand and stare, amazed at me, I sing my little ditty in each ear, Right- right, right-right, Right here! Though vanity is alien to my mind 'Twould render false to outwardly deny That men rejoice whene'er my lot they iindg To favor them, my whereabouts I cry, Right- right, right-right, Right here! My beady eye, my flaming carmine vest, Prithee, don't think that I conspire conceit, THE MISSILE P2-geifteen

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l Circle the Old Dominion By William Puryear I ESIRING the adventures of travel and yet wishing to have a feel- ,qpg 9 . . . . . :gugglgi ing of security, both financial and physical Calso driven by pov- ertyj I conceived the idea of enlisting in the Civilian Conserva- 2 tion Corps. Now wait, I know exactly what you are thinking, that I really meant that I wished to cultivate the technique of consuming alcoholic beverages, to develop the art of casting the ivory cubes with the black dots, acquire the ability of producing royal flushes from the fifty-two articles of that game of chance, or learn to mas- ter the vocabulary of cursing. That, my friend, is your and the other four hundred's idea of the C. C. C., and that's where you are all crazy. I de- fend it because I have belonged to it, I know by experience and you know only the one-tenth of it that you see on the streets. To begin with it was one of those hot and sultry summer mornings in '36, when the scorching sun sent its first searing rays of white heat penetrating to the very soul of mankind, when the blistering concrete walks combine with the reflecting glass windows of houses to form a glar- ing scene of eye-torturing humidity. An eye glass case, tooth brush, pencil, torn blue shirt, faded brown cotton trousers, and green shorts completed my lavish wardrobe. Twenty-six negroes and six white boys comprised the little social group that met at the court house to await transportation to the recruiting office in Richmond. The negro-owned bus with its colored driver finally arrived, the six white boys and twenty-six colored boys piling together into it. With windows closed the stuffy bus soon reeked with a musky, nauseating odor that stifled and choked. I didn't mind, I felt lost and forlorn anyway. If you have never left home with only twenty-five cents in your pocket, and no food in your hand, and not knowing your des- tination, then you cannot comprehend my emotions. I guess the other five white boys felt just as bad, for they were not very talkative. Only one of them had I ever seen, the others had never met one another before. From what I gathered from their sketchy speeches one was an orphan who had left his aunt g another was also an orphan who had no relatives and had been forced to make his own way in life since he was twelve. The third boy fthe one I knew slightlyj lived with his father and step-mother, his mother having long ago passed the great T H E M I S S I L E Page seventeen