St Agnes Academy - Veritas Yearbook (Houston, TX)

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Poetry, '45 . . . MOTHER'S HANDS Her hands are rough and finely lined. They're brown and stained, but I don't mind For in them I read so well The tale that only they can tell. Each thoughtful act, each task well done, Each joy past, each battle won, Is written there for all to see. Making those hands ever dear to me. Theyive worked for me both day and night. Theyive helped me always in this lonely fight. Life's hardest tasks seem not too hard With those dear hands near me to guard. -ALMA Buscl-I, '43 . THANK GOD O those who've gone before me O those who've lived and loved. You must know what I'm thinking, And what I'm dreaming of. You've traveled the roads of hardship, But ne'er did you complain. I've traveled the roads of freedom, And on it will I remain. Your life has been years of struggle Against the mean tricks of Fate. My life is that of leisure With a path right to my gate. You thanked God for all things, The roof, the walls, and door. We never think to thank Him, Instead we ask for more. -,IOSEPHINE FERTITTA, '43. THE TELEPHONE POLE The telephone pole stands straight and tall And never says a word at all About the message going by Along the telephone wires so high. When mother phones the grocery man To order bacon, eggs, and ham You'd think at least it would say Yum, yum, I surely wish that I had some. But never a word does the old pole say As it stands so silent day by day It must be hard not to say a word About the many things you've heard. This lesson let us all learn well The secrets of others we must not tell. It will he a profit to our soul If we all remember the telephone pole. -MARY T. RAY, '43. THERE IS NO FRIGATE LIKE A BOOK When the rain is falling like feet passing by, And there is-n't one ray of sunshine in the sky. When fire blazes on, making orange each nook Then is the time to get out a good book. When your feelings are low and you're all by yourself, There are good times and company up on the shelf. Take down a book and live with the ways, Be a part of the fun of the earlier days. Never say thereis nothing to see or to do For reading is fun and itis good for you Remember that each book on every shelf Is an unfailing source of the intellect's wealth. So store up your mind with this valuable gold Which will grow more precious as you grow old. -MARY KATHERINE BAYLESS, '43. THE RECITAL At last itis come. That dreaded day: The school recital- A chance to play! The curtain has risen. The old fear not gone. But each is determined The show must go 071. Trembling sheis seated Prepared to begin, The artist is ready White-lipped and grim. An eternity passes And now it's done. Rise and accept Your praise duly won. The piece is finished But not the work, Say, I hear there's another Recital in May! --CLARE CUSHMAN, '43. BUSY LITTLE ANTS Ten thousand little ants, and maybe a thousand more, Were coming in and going out their little doorg They marched like little soldiers, a general at the head, They did not carry guns, but only crumbs of breadj They were laying up their goodies for the cold winter days, Not like the lazy grasshopper that sings around and playsg We watch the little armyg they come and then they go: A system like the ants' would conquer any foe. -ELNA McComu:a, '43. fl-,iv sf- V:

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I was dressing for the New Year's ball Poetry, '42 . . . ALMA MATER A graceful pillared building With steps that climb so high In dignity is standing Brave against the skyg A group of happy school girls As they saunter up and downs The bus that comes each day at three To take us into towns A glimpse of a well-filled chapelg The pictures on the wall Of the second floor, and the swarms of girls As they go to study-hall-- When I think of St. Agnes Even more than the buildings I see The girls and nuns together: These make up St. Ag-nes for me. Slowly as the night would fall, '-MARY BELLE MCKEON OLD THINGS A ray of sunshine touches Some well-worn books and then Flickers on some pencils On paper and a pen. The sun hides out behind a cloud Like a frightened faung The ray of sunshine disappears Reminds me of the past four years- My last school days are gone. Down at You Down at You Down at You Down at You Down at -MARY BELLE McKEoN, 42. JONESES the house of Ioneses, find them, all who willg the house of Ioneses, find lack and even Bill. the house of Ioneses, find them by the tableg the house of Ioneses, find food prepared by Mabel. the house of Ioneses, When all the work is done, Down at the house of Ioneses, You'll find them having fun. Down at the house of Ioneses, You'll find Ann doing her artg Down at the house of Ioneses, Where musicis composed by Mart. Down at the house of Ioneses, You have seen all going ong Down at the house of Ioneses, Where happiness lasts till dawn. MY REVERIE I walked along the sunny street, My thoughts were far away In a wonder world, that's never seen In this modern world today. I sat upon a golden throne Within my palace walls, And sent my servants scurrying Throughout the many halls. For it was only their desire To grant my every wish, The dressmaker to make a gown- Oi' the cook my favorite dish. In a dress of soft green silk, And my royal cloak of velvet Trimmed with fur as white as milk. The musicians played my favorite waltz As I came down the palace stairs, And all the court was happy 'Cause they hadn't any cares. I danced upon the flufy clouds With handsomest prince in the land, And it made me very happy When he smiled and kissed my hand. The dance was almost over And he was just about to say- When Iohnny hollered from the curb Hey, Alice, going my way? '-FRANCES SULLIVAN, LITTLE MISS Tiny footprints in the sand, Dainty dresses made by hand, Mem'ries of a baby's kiss, Mean to me a little missf' I'd hear footsteps in the hall Softly coming down the stairs, Folded hands, to say her prayers. Then as she would creep to bed, After all her prayers were said, There I'd sit, with dreaming eyes, Questioning mysterious skies. Now I sit in memories deep, Thinking of a child asleep. Though she's almost eighteen now, She's still my Little Miss, somehow. '4 -BETTY JANE CLAY, '42, -MARGARET SULLIVAN, '42

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