Saskatchewan Teachers College - Lampada Yeabook (Regina, Saskatchewan Canada)

Page 98 text:

Wont to be Free I want to be free to walk the shores of the ocean in my bare feet. Free to weep to the sea, to tell my sorrows to the wind, to cry my anguish unto the hills. Free to strike out at Fate till graaually I find harmony perhaps contentment. Barbara Israels. EXAMINATION FEVER Well, hove had it! ... I ' ve studied so much; History: dates, and locations, and such; Explorers, geography, settling the West; (My mind will go blank when they hand me that test!). A SMALL BOY A small boy raised his head And asked his mother why All the people in the world Were made to live and die. He asked if we were made by God, (And this, he was told, is true), Why the bad were so very many. And the good so very few. As he looked into her eyes It was this he wished to know When I am old and soon to die, Where is it I must go? Of a simple and loving mother He wished to know these things, With the innocent, deep sincerity The eyes of a small boy brings. Of course, he didn’t realize As she knelt to kiss his cheek, These answers that he waited Are those that wise men seek. If this boy should grow to manhood, And these answers he could give. He would herald to the world The reasons for which we live. Dave Mclnnis. Characteristics of doodles with themes. Collages of paper-with-string in my dreams, Fold-over, x-ray, and skyline and base; (I just spilled my crayons all over the place!). Tarsiers, Lemurs, and the Anthropoid Ape! My spelling’s enough to make anyone gape. The Eras and Epochs fall weakly in line; The modes of selection?? I think we’ve learned nine. Reading and ‘‘writing’’ for Monaay to learn, Check lists, and readers, and phonics In turn. Language ain’t bad if you know how to talk — Just listen each time that you come up the walkl Science?? Oh, brother!! There’s so much to know: The shapes of amoeba, and how mosses grow; Cytology, botany, birdwatching too! I’m sure I’ll be dizzy before I’m through. Tuesday’s a halfday; am I glad for that! First Math, and then Methods — they’ll knock me out flat. Conditions of learning, and methods of same — I’ll be so confused I won’t know my own name. Wednesday’s no better. Now don’t you agree? Two morning exams, but the parts total three; They tell me that Health and Phys. Ed. are alike, But try to explain that to an eight-year-old tyke! Orchestra instruments — which one does what? It might be the trumpet, but then it might not! Vibrato, glissando, arpeggio, and trill. Scales, chords, and key signatures — juggled at will. I’m not just too sure if my brain will survive; I think that next Wednesday I’ll still be alive. So much to remember — confusing at times: It’s addled me so that I’m making up rhymes!! Ellen Brell. 94

Page 97 text:

NNABELLE HOFFART SHEILA SCOTT •1 Ti

Page 99 text:

HANDSHAKES. Yester-even, I met a friend - (My friends, these, oh ' tis sure they be, Though this a satire may seem. For if mine eyes doth have a gleam, ' Tis only for a little glee. Nay not for any other end.) “Met a friend, said I. Did I not? - ' Twos this that brought to my recall Times when I had to give my hand To a new member of my band Of acquaintance. Fine folk withal, Though for hand-shakes, they’re a weird lot! First was this good old aunt I knew, So sweet and so affectionate, Who took your hand, began to talk, Across the room began to walk, Oddly forgetful of your state, Held on for an hour or two. Better still, this goodly prelate, Who says to me each time we meet: “What is your name? Do I know you?” Good grief, what should I do? ' Tis two, Three times before we ' ve met! I greet Him with extended hand. Sad fate! For my firm holding of the hand Does contrast strangely with his own. Aye, ' tis sure, its very deadness Nigh shames me of my eagerness. F ' r all my willingness I must own, I know not how to shake a hand. For such abuse, please pardon me. Stoning, deserve those of my kind. Railing, no man should have to stand! But ' twas my hope, you understand, A weary soul, you would not mind To treat to smiles more than to tea. Doris Robin. CONGRATULATIONS U.S.A. Congratulations, United States! Your mighty deed is done; You have unlocked the doors to Heaven; A new exploration you have begun. You have roared with jet age power Through the threshold of Go f s domain. Wouldn’t it be a disappointment If your probings were in vain? You fight, you strive and struggle; To conquer space is your aim. Now that you have mounted the barrier, What is it you hope to gain? I don’t see why we struggle To reach this outer space; We have problems right at home That we can ' t seem to face. The entire world is settled; There are no lands to win, So we turn our eyes to Heaven; A new conquest we begin. Dave Mclnnis. END OF THE BEGINNING Out in the darkest depths of space In view of the solar ' s flaming face, Celestial bodies watched the birth Of a counterpart to be known as Earth. The new arrival circled the sun, And its pompous life was now begun; Upon the face of this tiny sphere Was planted the seed that put us here. The gift of life was given in vain; One may flourish, ten dwell in pain: From out of this tiny, fertile seed, Evolved a lustful, hating creed. Now we begin our history, A great struggle for supremacy. To live in peace was not our fate; The fires of life are fed with hate. A final struggle soon begins, The conflict which no one wins; Heavenly bodies that watched our birth Now sadly await the death of Earth. Dave Mclnnis.