Southwest High School - Roundup Yearbook (St Louis, MO)

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METAPHOR By JOAN BURGESS Seeds, planted in fertile soil By hands loving and tender Growg reach eagerly for the sun's rays, Drink deeply of the rain, And become blossoms beautiful to behold. Other seeds, planted in the same garden By hands as loving and tender Stand stagnant 5 refuse the sun's warm caresses, Reflect nature's nourishing rain, Willing to live but not to partake of life. BY THE SIDE OF THE ROAD By CAROL LOVING Did you ever linger by the side of the road And live the things you see and hear? The soft white snow as it falls on youg The patches of blue that still peep through: The cry of the loon from the distant lake, The lonesome echo that comes in its wake. The haunting shadows as the branches bare Wave their long- lank arms in wild despair. Then silence and darkness descends on all, Wrapping the world in its long black shawl. SERENITY By RONALD HARDING f Blue, velvet dark sky, Blending softly in the silvery Glow of a full moon. Far below quiet lakes Reflect an incandescent glow. Cattails, solemn, serene sentinels, Stand at the water's edge Waving with the whispering wind. In their midst dives a frightened frog, Leaving shimmering, sparkling, silver circles. Twenty-three

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Elaine Campbell...her Mar- vel of the Ozarks won essay honors. Oufl up Twenty-two LOVELY LADY By SALLY MARTINDALE Take the moon and spin it fine To threads of silken gold: Sprinkle stardust, gently now: It's something to behold. Her hair is doneg now take the stars, Combine them with the skies, Add just a drop of water blueg These shall be her eyes. Fading into shades of night, Find me a sunset rare. Mt'ngle with it hues of dawn: No beauty can compare. One, two, three! The work is done: That will be her crown. Now to start the work upon A stunning, flawless gown. From rainbow dew cut me a garb, A paragon of perfection. A deep green lake will be her glass To view her own reflection. A cloud for her powder puff And roses for her lips- Rubies for her dainty hands, To grace her fingertips. Endow her now with wisdom, Wz'th laughter and with life- And free her from all worry, From war, from fear, from strife. Who is this model maiden. The one I idolize? She's but a product of my thought From whence such dreams do rise. Joseph Kurz . . . he was first in the short story division with The Quest. 60I'lf86i mnnefd Sally Martindale...her poem Lovely Lady look Hrs! place,

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MARVEL OF THE OZARKS By ELAINE CAMPBELL It was the middle of the summer. Heat lay over the city in a gigantic blanket, smothering those under it. That was why we decided to get away for a few weeks. We picked out a spot called Big Springs State Park, located near Van Buren, Missouri, way down in the Ozark country. The state rents cabins in the park to tourists. We sent in our application for one of them, got a reservation, packed our clothes, and started on our way. The trip down was as pleasant as you could expect in that heat. It took only about four and a half hours to drive there, so it really wasn't as bad as we had expected. When we finally arrived, the first thing I wanted to do was to take a look at the spring. And what a spring it is! The English language is hardly adequate to describe its wondrous beauty. At the bottom of a. steep wall of rock the ice-blue water gushes madly forth from an unknown source. It's .truly an inspiration to stand there, listening to the roaring of the waters and watching them surge upward out of the earth. It isn't hard to believe what the scientists tell-that this is the largest spring in the United States, with eight million gallons of water pouring forth each day. It looks as if a gigantic kettle had been put on to boil and then forgotten for eternity. The water is far from warm. Ho-wever, as you stand there with the roar in your ears you can feel a sweet caress of cool, refreshing air on your cheeks. The water is so cold that if you hold your hand in it for several seconds it becomes numb. As I stood there, spellbound by all the splendor of nature, I wondered if anyone could swim in that leaping, dancing water. Then I saw some rocks hidden beneath the surface and I realized that even if you could withstand that mad swirling water, it would surely dash you against thoserocks without mercy. No, I thought, no one would ever swim at that point of the spring. Farther down, the spring narrows to about ten feet across. Perhaps you could swim there if you didn't mind the terriflic current and the cold. The current made one think that the spring was anxious to empty itself into the muddy river. It seemed a shame for such crystal-clear, untouched water to merge with the dirty river. That night, as I lay in bed, I could hear the spring. From our cabin, it seemed to be calling me to get out of bed and come there beside its cool banks. Wide awake, I jumped quietly up, grabbed my sweater and flashlight, and stepped out into the crisp air. The friendly stars were watching, winking and nodding to me as I walked down the path.that connects with the road to the spring. The murmuring had turned into a grumbling, and I noticed a fog that was forming over the water. I could see the base of the spring now, it looked as if it were hiding beneath the milky, undulating mist. I began to wish I had not started my lone venture, but somehow I couldn't turn back-not just yet. I had to see it at night. I forced my teeth to quit chattering and walked faster. And then, I was there. The roaring in my ears was tremendous, and I could hardly see through the wet mist which hovered all around. Something told me to switch on my flashlight. I did. There, not more than five Twenty-four