Spaulding High School - Red and White Yearbook (Rochester, NH)

Page 19 text:

FEATHERED FRIENDS PRISCILLA JACK, '53 When winter's icy winds are heard, Please don't forget to feed the birds. In familiar fields where the snow lies deep, There's nothing now that they can eat. A -crust of bread thrown here and there, Will mean for them a bill of fare. My own backyard is a busy spot, For there are birds of every sort. They sit and wait in a tree out there, For whatever food I have to spare. They are not fussy what they eat So we need not try to be discreet. It's fun to watch them get their fill, From a ledge beneath the window sill. We'11 remember the birds through the win- ter long, Then they'll remember us with their spring- time song. WORDS ANN RUTHERFORD, '53 Words may be humble Or words may be proud, Words may be soft Or words may be loud Words may beat harshly On life's rocky shoreg Or still pains tide gently In the bruised heart's core. For words are the toolsg Through which we may give Shape to our thoughts As nobly we live. In peace and security, Conveying what's true Is nature's intention Of what words should do. r P I Y DON'T QUIT ROBERT HARDY, '53 When things go wrong, as they sometimes will, When the road you're trudging seems all up hill, When the funds are low and the debts are high, And you want to smile, but you have to sigh, When care is pressing you down a bit, Rest if you must-but don't you quit. Life is queer with its twists and turns As everyone of us sometimes learns. And many a failure turns about When he might have won had he stuck it out. Don't give up, though the pace seems slow, You may succeed with another blow. Often the struggler has given up When he might have captured the' victor's cup. Success is failure turned inside out, The silver tint of the clouds of doubt. So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit, It's when things seem worst that you mustn't quit. ITS DONE BEFORE BEGUN BILL cARDosI, '53 At writing poems, I'm not so hot, A gift of which, I haven't got. I'll end it now, Before it's begun, I'll pass it in, Then, I'll be done!

Page 18 text:

VICXTUCYT' in ,. of I I lox c In A X d THE MERRY WINDS OF MARCH ARE LIKE JOLLY LITTLE ELVES, , VIHO ARE FOND OF PLAYING PRANIcs N 2 ' BUT NEVER SHOW THEMSELVES. - - THEY HAY GENTLY TIP YOUR HAT, ' OR EVEN BLOV. IT APAR, I I AND YOU IuII.I. NEVER QUITE FIND our I 6 A WHERE cII EARTH THEY FIRE. THEN upon s.oI,IE sToRIIIY NIGHT V.HEII ALI. IS BARR Arco STILL, 5 Q,,,-,tr You cArI HEAR THE..I SHRIER ANI: vHIsTI.E A 731'- '- , ' As THEY PAS: R FND s . N f 1' THE I.IERRY XIINDS OF MARCH X I -. ' . I I ARI: POND OF sooo DEED5, TOO. I f P 'F' THEY EI.oI+I AwAY SKIES or GRAY I , AND BLOW IN sRIEs or eI.uE. I I , - X ' THEY wHIsTI.E TO THE CROCUSES , I X .,- A f 1 - E N To TELL THEM HI-II:N TO GRovI, 'I 'K - AND THEY HANG THE SUN UP IN THE KY 1 'I ..., H W4 1- To IvIEI.T AWAY THE sNow. gy-Q, A -Q 'Wfp-5, . VW Qk R S ,M tm 3 tb In I 'sa- 1 1-7- L ge! X x I' X x, xg . IU, f I if I f A 13, 3 1 Ichq-Y on

Page 20 text:

18 THE RED AND WHITE AND SO TO BREATHE AGAIN MARY LEARsoN, '52 Five minutes to twelve, and in each seat Each student sat rigid, all ready to leap, I gathered my books to hold for protection, I shivered and thought, What a muscular collection! At long last it rang, and loud was the roar, Thirty-five yelling students out of study hall tore. , I was ripped from my chair, thrown on the floor, Dragiged up the aisle, and tossed out the oor, Her1fr11an's future material pushed from be- ind. Oh, please God, I prayed, save me, be kind. Tackled and sat upon, rip went my skirt, Madly frantic, I grabbed someone's shirt My locker, my locker! I made it at last! Then for fresh air, and this leg in a cast. Tonight a steel shield, and a helmet I'll buy, At this stage of the game-I'm just too young to die! T0 WAIT OR NOT TO' WAIT PATRICIA BROUILLARD, '53 'Twas the night before my birthday And all through the house, Everyone was quiet, especially my spouse. My presents were hidden in the closet with care In hopes that I wouldn't find them there. The children whispered as they were tucked into bed, - And I paused at the door to hear what was said. Now listen, kids, not a peep out of you, Or you'll spoil our secret and all the fun, too! I strained my ears, but nothing more could I hear, So I looked around quickly to see if the coast were clear. As I reached the closet door, I heard my conscience say, Don't open that door or you will surely pay-' I went to my room to try to get some sleep, And the only way I did it was by counting sheep. When I awakened early the very next day, I was glad I had waited -when I heard my family say, I-Iere's your presents, Daddy, and-a happy birthday! THE CRUSHED ROSE MARTHA L. FAIST, '53 Each petal is plucked from a rose now dead, Clutched in the hand of a girl, Her body lies lifeless, on the bed. Both are free from a troubled world. Each petal signifies a phase of her life, There's one for heartbreak, pain and sorrow, She found each day, too big a strife, And time too short, to borrow. If the rose could be pieced back together again, To show her a happy life, The petals would be straight, and no longer bend, They would give her the courage to fight. MY DREAM ROSE SIELIAN, '52 I tried to write ,a poem on art, A poem about the deep, rich shades, Which many tints and hues impart, A masterpiece that never fades. The lights and darks together Make a complete design Combined with artists' endeavor Becomes a masterpiece fine. If but one thing I could have That would mean the world to me, A work about which I could rave Is a masterpiece painted by me. OMISSION ANN RUTHERFORD, '53 Oh, is it always what we do That speaks aloud our feeling? Or is it, can it quite be true, That things undone have meaning? Oh, can the things we didn't do Cause perhaps a deeper pain? Or are the skies of deeper hue For things we've done in Vain? Strange that a heart may shattered be Because of deeds not done, As rain will rust the truest steel Left undried in summer sun.