Petersham High School - Hilltop Yearbook (Petersham, MA)

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POEN Charlhs L. Armstrong, 4 Out of the solitude of Wight Whwrs in the studded sky the moon shows bright There suddenly aphhhrs a streaking light, Perhaps a meteor shootihf down thrmugh space, The winner in u heavenly race. The milkv Wav the Bear look OH .7 9 7 As the planet flashes fir , is gone. THE ADTTNTUAE OF A PAGKN Frederick Show, '42 Sunset clouds are piling hiyh, hihdlihg the craps with variai Hug, had ghd Orange, gold and hlru. TQ: than -and rcckjg stfmiers Climbs 3 travslhr on his way. The by vm: the stars ccme cut Diawuhds if thu sky Hhcvs. Then thg truvglwr gathers up Sticks and lays thsw in WH oak. Lurrr travsler f'r th ss hrmls Lain Q tn your ssfstv hear Wflv.s ir' cwwihsl Wurrv friphh! 151 tlhr tr-vf t'u1 trwzvnjrsr Qli'fhs Put .f rsmch hr shangihi jams, Fiiuzly the woltqs dlpart Shimbihz, growlinf, swirling, hrnwlihg, 'Til th: howls are wll thni's hhsrd F1-Viiill? Laci: oil hildn r ndihis. Truvhlsr, lay ,rhr wohry hued Ch tha hlstfsrm that's ywur hed. Thro gh the nifht a heathef baud Marches f rth th the great oak, Old und rrihklsd heathen priest Frvr the tr3e with shnrphhsd Knife Cuts 3 sprim of mistletoe. Ah, ihsv have not szsh him, hm. Mahy a HHH his safety psrilcd BV H tickling in his HOSG. Cnr poor traveler in this way Shaved tis psohle where ht lav.

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Us shoot the arms and drag him down. Spears are pressing on his chest. What will he 'our fate, O pagan? Will you he a sacrifice To the heathei's tribal god? In the outskirts of the crowd, Roman priest, your duty now: Save the stranger from the mob. Through the heathen with s friend Antonius forward makes his way 'Til at last, before the wanderer, Stops, and pushing Len aside, To the home of a native friend Carries the voor faintinn nun Through the crowd of heathen land. Bring the mistletoe along, It will dc for decoration. DISHES Harriet Johnson, '40 I hate to see the dishes in the sink, And from the thought of washing them I shrink, To leave them there is what I plan to do, Until my mother gets into a stew. She takes me gently by my little ear, nThe dishes must be doneg see hare, see here!N And so I'hurry with the suds and pan, And do my duty like a little man. THE SCHOOL BUS Luella Bassett, '43 My fathsr has a bus That doesn't seem to run. The trouble it causes us Just isn't any fun. In the morning it won't go, If it's cranked for an hour. It has to have a tow, Because it has no power. Sometimes it freezes up a hitg That makes my father cuss. Thers's always something the matter with it. You might know it's 'Bassett'sN bus. iv I -J