Shortridge High School - Annual Yearbook (Indianapolis, IN)

Page 28 text:

SUNSET XVILLIAM J. BURICH xcgi N ,1 rg- , M ' RQ ,N ff '1- 3 5 ' 'fi ,A - Qfj - , ' Q' . , ,rhfnlh ? 2:-ff 'Q EAA' A 1 .EYTZX a4m'Gw,f.t.,-at A '-- -0 I OISED momentarily above the purple ridge of the distant hills, the glowing, fiery sun sheds its parting rays over the little valley, snuggled cozily among the tree-clad hills. The tall, ivy-mantled spire of the little church in the village gleams brightly in the rosy light, as, slim and erect, it points like a. long finger toward the azure heavens above, casting an ever-lengthening shadow upon the quiet streets below. In the cool, sweet-smelling depths of the woods, the little wild folk are scurrying to their nests, as if afraid to be caught by the oncoming evening. A little gray squirrel scampers warily across the open glade and, chattering gayly, climbs to his snug little haven in the top-most branches of a huge, Weatherbeaten oak. The soft, full notes of a vesper Sparrow float clearly through the quiet evening. A huge jay, perched in the top of a neighboring tree, scolds loudly and angrily at the departing sun. Down in the valley, the farmer, having finished milking, is just turning the lowing herd out into the meadow for the night. The horses are drinking slowly from the huge wooden trough before they go out to the pasture. The old collie, weary after his long, busy day, is lying on the cool earth by the back porch, waiting for his dinner. A small flock of pigeons is wheeling and turning above the old barn. Settling on the gabled peak, they strut up and down along the ridge, until. one by one, they disappear into the hayloft of the barn. Now only the rim of the huge luminous ball remains above the distant ridge. Casting a final beam upon the church spire, the sun disappears. Only the huge billowy clouds, floating like soft rosy pillows, still reflect the colorful rays of the fiery orb. Creeping slowly from the East, the dusky gray evening spreads its soft

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THE VANISHED PRINCESS The princess ran into her garden bright Where roses bloomed and in profusion rare Climbed over red brick walls. Where silver sprays From graceful marble fountains caught the rays Of morning suns and threw prismatic lights. The larks sang morning praises to the child. She did not heed the beauty all aroundg She listened though, intent, for Ada's call, And hearing none, nor quick approaching steps, She knew that she was free at least to roam The garden made for her sweet Majesty. A magic thread lay on the short clipped grass, Woven of twisted silver, shining gemsg She stretched her dimpled hand to grasp the toy, The tiny hand that was to rule the land. Her fingers touched it, and it moved apace. It moved on slowly, always out of reach, It moved. and still she followed, till they reached A wall, where, through a hole the rabbits knew, It disappeared, and through it went the child. They called and called. Nurse Ada tore her hair. The countryside resounded with their calls. They watched and waited and sent heralds out- To no avail. Years pass, and others reign! Her garden waits. The roses bloom and in Profusion rare climb over red brick walls As if to watch and wait and call her back. The silver sprays still catch the rays of suns And make three rainbows. But the larks have left Perhaps they, too, have followed silver threads. But they have gone. She's gone. The garden waits' -Rena Dean

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SUNSET mantle over the valley, covering forests, farms, and village like a downy blanket. A slender beam of light, shining gravely from a kitchen window in the village. pierces the growing dusk like a sharp gleaming lance. Mothers' voices, calling their children in from their play, interrupt the symphony of the evening breeze, which is whispering softly through the branches and leaves of the poplars. The bubbling, gurgling stream tumbles merrily over the mossy rocks, and tugs playfully at the drooping branches of the Willows which line its banks. In the more quiet pools, huge green bullfrogs, grotesque in the shadowy darkness, croak and sputter, as they send their serenade echoing through the still night. Curling, twisting, thickening, a filmy white mist rises slowly, softening the outlines of the trees and bushes. The twinkling stars, like points of light, look dovm from their places in the huge blue vault, and see a world in which all is quiet. Nature is at rest. 6' or FRIENDSHIP J EANNE HELT The corner-stone of Life is Friendship. True Friendship is as rare as precious gems, and dearer. One's real friends of a whole lifetime may be counted on the iingers of one hand. Yet, few in number, they enrich one's life to the uttermost. Dullness from solitude, self-interest, and narrow- ness are overwhelmingly contrasted with the joys of a Friendship of which mutual love, admiration. and respect are parts. Not only can a man not live Without companions, but a man cannot live without Friends. The highest reward of a high school career is the formation of a true Friendship. The greatest discovery of any life is the iinding of 9, Friend. The thrill of the soul most wonderful is the thrill from the Words of a Friend. The noblest deed is sacrifice for a Friend's sake and the lowest the betrayal of friendly interest. The greatest glory is triumph shared with a Friend and the deepest pangs of trouble are those caused by injury to him. The supreme joy is the joy of Friendship, and deepest gloom-its sorrow. Friendship is that blessed state of existence in which two parties love, help, and advise each other for the best interests of each, in which they share the joys and sorrows of each, as joys and sorrows of both, in which each betters himself for the satisfaction and pride of the other. So if you have a true Friend,you are fortunately blessed with a Divine gift from one who is a Friend to all. And if you are without a true Friend, it is yours to live in such a manner as shall foster the formation of sincere Friendship and yours to hope that soon you shall have a Friend-to love- for only with Love do we live.