Seven Hills High School - Yearbook (Cincinnati, OH)

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The School Clock At nine A.M. the school clock sees A group that looks in need of sleep. From then 'til two they sit and yawn, Like caverns of the ocean deep. By half past two the clock sees not The sleepy gaze which watched its face, But in its stead each wide-eyed girl Is ready there to dash apace. PATSY POGUE, 1941 Once Cver Lightly Sanders Maxwell raised his baton, Softly the music began to play Slowly the light faded into oblivion The excited audience became calm Only music was heard Sliding softly along. The curtain rose Indians paraded across the stage To the definite rhythm of the drums They began to chant their song of woe About two lovers. The chorus danced and whirled by, Action swiftly took place The plot became involved. Two lovers were united The excited audience became calm, Only soft music could be heard, Sanders Maxwell lowered his baton. PAULA MAUE, 1939 l 1391 mkafone, I 93 9

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Wiimfone, 193 9 Thanksgiving Cobble! Cobble! do not fear, They are turkeys that you hear. Heads are up, tails are down, But they make a terrible sound. Do not look so perky, You innocent turkey. By and by we will feast, On your good turkey meat. BARBARA CARTER, Sixth Grade Each Morning Ten minutes to eight, Then a walk and a wait, A red light in the distance, I guess I'm not late. I get on the bus, And at first all is calm, Then the scurrying starts ,Iust a few miles beyond. Pretty soon there's a hustle, They step on my toes, And my books start to fall, And the multitude grows. There is room for no more, We are packed like sardines. A word to my neighbor Makes the trip more serene. Iim approaching the end, As I push my way on There's a rush for my seat And I wonder who won. I drag into school, Throw my books just pell-mell And then as I start to rest There goes the bell! DEEDEE ALLEN, 1941 H381

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Widdone, f93 9 PAUL A MAUE BAB S POGUE RUTH OB E RHELMAN CY N THIA AULT HARR I ET WOODS BETTY B O XILL MA R GE KING ANN C AMPBELL ELIZABETH C L ANCEY RUTH W A GNER BROOK S JOHNSTONE JOAN S ULLIVAN The Approach of Doom Slowly swinging, left to right, A beam glinted from the copper blad , The curse of the approaching night Upon that keen, sharp edge now played. Such strife as this has been endured By great and small of ages past, Soon would I speak my last word Before my doom was set at last. Mary of Scots, and Charles the First, Lady ,Iane Grey-this galaxy of names Who have undergone the worst Strikes terror to my chilling veins. Right to left, slowly swinging, The blade glided, left and right, My heart beat faster, my ears were ringing, With this cruel, appalling sight. The pendulum kept that steady rhythm, At two o'elock was the hand, My last words were 'Tuck be with 'emla' As I left the roof for history Mexamv, PATTE KNOTH, 1940 It 1401