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

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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.

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THOUGHTS OF A SEVENTH GRADER ALAN KING, '57 ICE CREAM When dinner comes, and there is meat 'Tis still ice cream I love to eat. What's there about it tastes so good? Do you want some? You know, you should! THE WIND Hear that dreadful wind? It's not alone you see. I know this very well' it has trees for com- pany. I cannot go to sleepg the wind keeps me awake. This wind will make me work- Tomorrow I must rake! CHRISTMAS Is Christmas just a time to get? Oh no! It's time to give. A loving season everywhere No matter where you live. THANKSGIVING You'd better be hungry, for youire going to eat, Vegetables, cranberry sauce, turkey for meat- Then for dessert, you'll be sure to have pies, When you get through, you'll be full to the eyes! MONEY Pennies, dimes, and nickels, too, Spending these-'tis joy to do. Now and then, there is a dollar, And when they come, I like to holler, Of folded bills-it's sad but true- Some have a lot, and some too few! POEMS I like to write poemsg they are fun to do. And not only that-I like learning them, too! Yes, I shall write oneg I have time to spare, I write at home, or at school, or about any- where. A Present of Freedom LOIS DODGE, '56 Tina Marie was a little Polish girl. She was nine years old today, but that didn't make much difference where she was. The Germans had been looking for her father and mo- ther on a charge of spying against the government. W Tina had been kept in a neighbor's cellar for a month ever since this horrible thing began. Tina's mother was afraid if she went out she would be seen and taken away. Tina's fa- ther had promised her a wonderful birthday present. All day she won- dered what it was going to be. That night when it was dark, her mother put on her shawl and the three of them started down the street. It seemed to Tina that they walked for hours among trees, swamps, and deep grass. Then just as the dawn was break- ing, Tina heard her father cry, Free- doml Tina knew that this was her birthday present and to her it was the most wonderful present she had ever known.