Summit School - Flame Yearbook (St Paul, MN)

Page 17 text:

Q5 ,yi . 4-g2gw:11,g.:+-2:--1.55'ggggiye---Mgr: -wageifiisfifz-:vi Sw, ,f,f,gr,gyf,.-1, I .f . ,faitakwtzigeisr 7-ei. 3 Q A+ - I Y journey of a Past Em I am awakened by the cessation of movement. Hailing a porter, the conductor orders my luggage, two carpet bags, to be lowered to the ground. There are several people on the wooden platform, but none look even vaguely familiar in the dim way- station light. In a room jutting out from the brick building, a telegrapher can be seen slumped over the key. An old trestle is used as a step to the platform adjacent to the station house. Another set of tracks, narrow gauge, runs parallel to the platform. And the order board, with the signal arm extended, appears as a skeleton, a stark antag- onist to the puffing train. Firemen are stoking the boiler for a continued journey, while the water tower waits patiently, its snout pointed downward. When the pressure's up and the tracks are clear, my only line with home chugs mechanically away. Carily Todd Hugus I look out- Someone is no one No one is gone Yet, I look out And cry. jane Ellen Hastings The skies are dark with light, The trees are naked with leaves, My life is empty with people, Everything is nothing-

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l P Andrea Tinsley Field Experience River running your course brave and bold, What things you have seen to tell us of old, Many streams of knowledge must make you serene. Oh! If you could teach us the lessons you've seen. River! If you could relate what you 've learned, Maybe then, through your experiences we could try to find Ourselves before we're entrenched in mistakes Vfhich will overcome us . . . Too soon . . . Too late . . 12 The War in Viet Nam Many will die and be injured too But sacrifice for their country. They keep their heads held high But their spirit is low and lonely. Everyday the battle roars loudly And the brave, bold men grow weaker. Many hearts are blistered by the Impregnable fact that some will die, Will it be me? 99 'We won't withdraw, we can't withdraw. But why are we the committed ones, The ones which will always save The forgotten and forlorned? There is no one else. We must help those in need, support those in want, For freedom is a blessing in our land, A desire in many, And an impossibility for the destitute. One may ask why we fight this long hard battle. Tell him, 'So that everyone, No matter what race, creed, or belief, May have the privilege to actuate such things. Maybe the chance will be lost, maybe forever. Constance june Fuller i 4

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Cecily Ann johns on The Rain Sheila Marie Kenyon The rain makes solemn tree guards limp And, like some wicked, childish imp, Plays horrid games upon the grass With wet and slippery molten glass. The rain twists clammy fingers o'er The wind harp, choking its brave roar To sickly spurts of damp unease That barely stir the mourning trees. The rain soaks through the mortal skin And lets the misty vapors in That enervatc the body's kind . . . Rain is the weeping of the mind. 14