Riverbend School for Girls - Vox Fluminis Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

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Page Twenty .seven VGX FLUMINIA GRADE XII. Six girls we are in a library old Which is stuffy and hot,or freezingly cold, Where things often happen which never are told And where teachers endeavor our young lives to mould. That lady called Luck was our greatest friend VVhen toxus she did Miss Macdougall send, A regular sort. though we hate to relate. One Whom We really don't half 'preciate. Cur president Edith who loves asking questions, Amuses the class with her artful suggestionsg In sports Inas Helen does brilliantly shine, y Making baskets, of course, her particular lineg Aline, our student, who thinks with great ease, Attacks all her problems like niouses do cheeseg Sonie of the hobbies which janet enjoys Are singing, and dancing, and skiing, and boysg Helen, our niinstrel, skips gaily along, Greeting every new crisis with snatches of songg Alison's talents are yet to be shown, We must ask you to wait until she's full grovvng We are honored in English by Elenor Lee, Wfhose encounters with Pickwick we all watch with gleeg h So these are the girls in that library old Which we like though stuffy, or freezingly cold. VVe hope We're not boring or being too bold As with pen and rhyme we this picture unfold. -Edith Haig and Alison NVar1ner, Grade XI.

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VOX FL U ill I NI S Page Twenty-six A Pomivi FoR HOMEWORK? i N THE first place, there are two vastly different ways of writing a poem. The easiest a-nd I think the best way is to see something or think of something and feel as if you wanted to write a poem about it. I am sure a good deal of bad poetry must have been written at one time or another, and I'm equally sure a large part of it was written for homez work. The night before such a masterpiece as this has to be handed in, or sometimes, it is to be feared, the night after, I, the potential poetess, sit down with a blank sheet of paper in front of me and take my pen ifn hand just as so many others have done before me. What can I write about? Haven't I heard somewhere that the world is full of a number of things- ships and sealing wax, cabfbages and kings? But none of these articles, varied though they be, suggest much in the way of a poem. Nature is always good as a last resort, but too many people resort to it. Vifhy, I wonder, should anything so beautiful supply the inspiration for such a proportion of worse than mediocre verse. Somewhere out of the past comes a hazy recollection of a Latin class with a muse of poetry in it. but that doesn't help. Did Xklordsworth write To the Daffodils just because he wanted to write a poem? I donit think so, and were those lines of Shelley's, which always give me and hundreds of us who read them a little inward thrill, composed after a lot of hard thinki-ng? They couldn't have been! But I, without a single spark of their genius. must write a poem for homework. VVhile I sit thus turning over in my mind the injustice of being asked to write poetry suddenly there is another side to the question. Even I know that mine is not good poetry but how much more pitiable my efforts must seem when read by one who knows something about it all. Still another thought pushes itself to the fore in my muddled brain, how many people have read all of even the best poetry which has been written down through the ages? I shouldn't thi-nk many have done it, and I wouldn't really be surprised if none could boast of this accomplishment. VV ith this point in view, it seems strange that it should be desirable for me and my classmates to write poetry at all. Besides which, doubting Thomas that I am, I do'n't think that the people who wrote the best poetry were taught to do it in any classroom. ' And all the rambling of my thoughts notwithstanding, I still have neither title nor poem to hand in tomorrow. -Margaret Aldous, Grade XI., Douglas Halli Editoifs N otc-These are my personal and not my official views.

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