Seven Hills High School - Yearbook (Cincinnati, OH)

Page 92 text:

Milestone High School Poem - Second Prize MSCI-IUBERT REMINDS ME OE A TREE IN WINTER A tall black silhouette: a cold, white sky, Long, lonesome branches and a mournful sigh. Priendless and freezing: a proud, mammoth tree. Long racking sobs blow the last leaves free. One crying heart and its music which was great. Fingers made by genius and a world made by hate. Cold, proud and hungry: a despairing soul Dying unwanted, unknowing, at its goal. BETTY CHAPMAN, '48 J ,N e.. WI Q' f' ' x at 'Nils , f' I' ., H High School Poem - Honorable Mention RED IS EOR COURAGE As though its life were not enough and had to be of brighter stuff Than that of which other states Are made, with forests green and fields -With beigey weeds and seeds of jutes- As though it had not been content with common lot which God had sent Her other friends whose hearts Were humble but not noble less Than those with race and grace as rootse- She bears a sign, and though you doubt, and think that it was made without I-Ier destiny's bright star As guide, or that she should in honor wear A branch with pain and shame as fruits- She wears it now and always will, though noise of civil strife is still And gone's the fuel on which it fed. And who's to say it's not a sign, When, looking 'neath her friendly pine, We Hnd that Georgia's soil is red. HARRIET BIERY, '46 page 88

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Milestone High School Poem --First Prize BLAME THE SCIENTIST The world is a brilliant sphere of flame, Torn by jagged boulders ten miles high Which rip out canyons that are continents wide In which men by the millions make their graves. The mountains crash to earth with deaf'ning roars, Burying cities with their burnt remains, Which instantly are seized and whirled on high And dumped into the lashing ocean waves. ELIZABETH CARSON, '48 I flip, Q ,M ill First Prize Primary Drawing Elizabeth Foshdll, Third Grade PRISONER OE WAR Tones sepulchral and a hollow voice had he, Deep in his head, like two incandescent coals, Burned his eyes- Eyes that were black, and blacker with despair, Gaunt of frame, beaten, and broken, he Who, not so long ago, had for the last time Kissed his dying child, Watched Death, with his bloody scythe, reap harvest. His skeleton lingers gripped his grimy cup. Burning, terrible eyes for the last time looked Upon this world- World of torment, hunger, sickness, and despair. Today, he and three hundred others died. His glutted guard, a snarl of loathing on his puffy lips, Dragged him off, And thrust him, roughly, into the burial pit. Oh, you who live well in security, How could you have allowed this man to die, Tortured and starved: Forsaken him and let him die like this? A few of you foresaw the coming storm, But those few could not stem the rushing tide And were imprisoned, And died, and still are dying there, like Hies. flnspired by pictures of the Nazi prison camps, and by stories of Nazi atrocitiesj NANCY FosHAY, '48 page 87

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4 i Milestone THEN WE SHALL KNOW Do you ever wonder- just wonder, What it is that lies beyond? Beyond the stars, beyond the blue, Beyond the bright, beyond the dark? Do you ever ponder on what you cannot know? What lies between the mists and winds? Why Time will never turn or stop? Why Life won't change to nothingness? Do you ever dream of what may be someday? Will l remember then this hour? Will l know then what lies beyond, And what are joy and sadness? Do you ever wonder what Fear can be? Wonder if gladness is real and alive? lf there truly is a life beyond? Wonder if we really live and die? Do you ever think that earth may crumble, And sky and all above may disappear? It is then that we shall know at last What lies beyond, what is life we and death. LONSDALE GREEN, '46 V, in, H gr - ff fx at