Sheldon Williams Collegiate - Opus Yearbook (Regina, Saskatchewan Canada)

Page 100 text:

SORRY Sorry, I broke the cup Mom. UPON LOOKING INTO REGINA’S I didn ' t know TELEPHONE BOOK it was your Have you ever looked into our ' Phone Book favorite. And studied the many names, Of peoples and places and all sorts of races, Shall I drop And names that have led to fame? the saucer? I was wondering what would happen Should some of these people meet, The Savage and Proud, the Hastie and Quick, The Wise, the Dummer, the Meek. Suppose we went to a banquet, Let’s see who we would find, The Kings, the Bishops, the Lords, the Knights, And many more of their kind. Hello Mrs. Stone, Mr. Wood, Miss Steel, Good-day and how are you, Miss Cap? There’s the Finchs, the Crows, the Sparrows and Eagles, The Fawcetts, the Plummers, the Tapps. Mr. Plymoth, Miss Chrysler and Miss Austin All came here with the Fords, I see Mr. Penny, Miss Nichol, Miss Crown, And also the Hamers and Boards. Introductions are over and everyone ' s seated Waiting for the food to come on, There’s Beans and Pickels, Lamb and Rice, And a cake of tasty Chiffon. It’s now getting late and time to depart, So we’ll say good-bye to these folk, See you soon Mr. Farmer, Miss Baker, Miss Parson, Good-bye to you too, Mr. Pope. Now that all these people have left, And there ' s only just you and me, We can be thankful that our names are not Like any one of these. However, it could be worse by far, As you will very soon see, What if you had a name like these, Szuchewycz, Czeckiewicz or Joachimowski? —Cheryl Kinney THE APOSTLE Have you ever seen somebody die? No? Oh you are lucky! Lucky that you have never seen a man fall, Hunted, shot down like an animal, That you have never seen his blood dribble on the snow. It is beautiful you know, Red blood . . . white snow. He falls like a beast. Surely you have seen a deer shot? Or a mad dog? He falls just the same — Only this time it is a man. His hands grip the earth — Reality . . . which he does not want to leave His hands search. They cling to the earth with such a force That his knuckles turn white. Feeling the terra brings him back — Back from the misty, shadowy road — Back to life — but only for seconds. His body trembles as if charged with electricity . . . Convulsing, twisting — His face changes . . . fright comes over him; The gates of death are closing He looks at you . . . begging you . . . Help me!! But you are helpless! There is nothing you can do . . . Only see the gates close — His arm goes up once more, fingers outstretched The crimson flower on his chest is blooming. You can see him reaching for the gate; But the gatemen are merciless The heavy gates close with a bang. His body goes limp ... as if he had no bones, The gurgling sound in his throat stops, But his eyes remain open . . . staring . . . Flashes of fear, hate, guilt go through you, . . . you feel sick. Not because of him ... he does not disgust you, He is celestial, serene, beautiful. You did not help him — You could not help him — You guilty world!!! 96