Rogers Hall School - Splinters Yearbook (Lowell, MA)

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

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 10 text:

Academic Anxiety IN? Always that question with the future in mind Always a fear you'll be left behind, Never too sure what will be their last say, Never sure once you're there, if you'll be on your way . . . OUT! KATHY LATHAM '66 Friday It's 2: 16 on a Friday- My seat next to the door, Four minutes to go- That's all I need to know. Soon the bell will ring- I'm nervously twisting my ring. I can't bear it any longer! I timed my exit yesterday- Four seconds to the door, Five more to grab my bag- And if I don't trip at the gate, Then I'm free! TINA WRIGHT '68 lt Was Fascination My story begins on any day, anywhere. It's about everyone. The music was beautiful. The performance was excellent. Critics had acclaimed the symphony to be a perfect masterpiece. The composer was ecstatic. As we left, her voice could be heard saying, I wonder if his moustache was waxed? There was a terrific disturbance. The customs oH-icer had detected the jewel smuggler. Why, look at that nice policeman helping that poor man with his bags, she said. The streets were dark, there were ruts in the road. The buildings were dark and dingy. Windows were broken and glass was strewn on the sidewalk. That's disgraceful, she said. 'That poor dog looks hungry. The crowd gasped. All eyes were directed upward as the trapeze artist lost his balance. Just as he fell, she said, I wonder what that flimsy rope is made of. The newspapers, radios, and televisions blared the news. A cure for cancer had been found! Mankind was saved. Oh dear, now what shall they do with all those X-ray machines? she pondered. There is a moral to this story. It goes like this: A stitch in time save nine. CATHERINE Cowres '67