Rogers Hall School - Splinters Yearbook (Lowell, MA)

Page 8 text:

The Moderator I have used as my life-time walking stick the moderation of the Hellenes. This staff is my guide and if I clutch it always it will be my savior and will protect me from ruin. My stick directs me safely through the dim confused forest and sup- ports me in my struggle over the most treacherous peak. When I am blinded by a glaring sun that I mistake for happiness, my stick is in my hand to hold me back. I am sometimes tempted to throw my stick aside and to run through the warm sand, to Hy to the shore. But no, I wou.ld be errant and never regain the path. I must grasp the faithful rod tightly. For I know that if I let go my grip to try to stretch for what is outside my reach, I will lose my balance and tumble into the depths. CINDY KELLER '66 If-' 6'4f1fd,flf ln Defense of Pacificism We fight to gain Our freedom. We fight to gain Our rights. e We fight to help End some other iight. Although we fight To help ourselves, All we do is hinder. What do we gain But woeful tears, And cities turned To cinder? DONNA BruoN '68

Page 7 text:

Renewal Shining brightly, A single drop of rain Slid slowly down the stem Of a dying piece of grass, And running round its roots, Brought it life again. BARBARA TRIIXVIBLE '66 I X 7 6 f I ,f . ,f x Ii lillx -Vail 1 A . ilu if 'V 5 !l'.y' 'Qu i in V W! lil xml A ,ix A A W 'L f N if-Q 1 , lax '. N, V M ,iVi- '1 lr X1xJ'X 'XX A 'Q' X N, .f i rq ! x' J 5: - ' M ,fl iw , xx.. f . EN 1 ,ff 1 x I WM iiffgm X f iris' fr will H? 1 xl 'wwf' ,i , X lui' ill X Q t' 'xl .--:if '-5' iq J-'it . 'A 'if ' 'Es'-35 -V -i 1-f4'A-5:--.?-2g 5 , -- Z ' ' - ' V- ' f .. , .- r .' ' 'Q oi'- : 'jt 'iifg qx 45 ' 1, Af- i f 4-+35 'i N .f r ' 2.4 .,'-'-,LL .- Ha jig Y -L Y .--Am 1' 41 -mm - i-- ... ff ,i4-k'lQLx5:ifiA :-- 7 if ' Si-f'i .nfiiizj i ' X

Page 9 text:

Revelation Quiet moments Spent alone Thoughts press Though they've been forevvarned Hazed in time Subdued in growth Greyed in tone But one forgets He tries . . . At the same time To damn all blythe spirits And scratch from mind lmpending thoughts Hovering near. To erase his feelings, His love, His hurts And reveal now his face Carved out of stone. But he only succeeds ln exposing his wounds Cruely inflicted Swollen with pain Tasted with salt grains To nature's own cure Gblivious to man Still willing to heal. SUE BARON '66