Tillsonburg District High School - Tatler Yearbook (Tillsonburg, Ontario Canada)

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P 0 E T R Y EDITED HY EDITH MOON, XII INVITATION TO THE DANCE e QBest Poem About School Lifeb For weeks there reigned a festive air, But you alone sat in despair. You hoped that there would be a. chance For an invitation to the dance. Then it came with freckled face, Friendly grin and loping pace, With stammered word and hopeful glance, An invitation to the dance. Then it was over. About you lie The souvenirs of that dance gone by. What started this, your new romance? An invitation to the dance. Margaret French, XII. DECEMBER GLOOM QBest Descriptive Poemj The dull December twilight falls From Autumn's mistiness and gloom, And save for sad winds' quiet moans, The silent world's a tomb. The sky is banked with clouds of gray,' The bleak wind sings an age-old tune, And shoves into the sullen clouds A pale unwilling moon. Starkly against that sullen sky A black tree stands, whose branches lift And tangle with the fir-tops high, In thin gray cloudy mist. And over by the sodden fence, A cedar, limp, and tinged with brown, Forlornly waits with mem'ries of Past snowflakes drifting down. Now underneath, the sod is wet, And to each footfall as I pass Its dank brown sogginess yields deep . . . . Squishing, muddy, grass. Ruby Makins, XIII. 66 PESSIMIST'S SEASONS CBest Humorous Poem! Spring at last! All is muddy Isn't it lovely. Cooed fuddy-duddy! Summer comes Sticky and hot! The soil is baked. Sweet summer! Rot! Autumn follows, Things are bleak, The wind is cold 'On my grey cheek. Winter now, But thcre's no snow Just freezing rainy Wouldnft you know! V. Vance, XII. -.,.O,,,,.,1,, DESOLATION The streets were stark and bare, Yet I fell beneath a gaudy throng. The sky was dark, I swear, But the sun pained my eyes with its brilliance strong. Heavy my heart did I wear, And though my spirit dragged, ne'er Did my step show that aught was wrong. Such is the fate for only Those who are always lonely. E. Moon, XII. SING? OUT Sing out, my weary one, sing e'en Just as a mocking-bird will sing, Beneath a spreading evergreen In early spring. Why fret and worry, doubt and fear, Why care too much for earthly weal? This world has not a sorrow here That heaven cannot heal. Anne Pauls, XIII. THE TATLER

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A SERIOUS POEM lHumorous Poem . . Honourable Mentiony I thought I would write a serious poem,' I thought that I would really show 'em. I chose a serious title, you see, So that I could write philosophy. I thought me out some rare fine thoughtsf I thought and thought till I had lots, And then I spent considerable time To figure out a suitable rhyme,- 'Twas then I thought my work half done: The rest, said I, is mostly fun. Then I wrote down the starting line. That's good, I thought. That's really fine. With pride I showed it round at home. They said it was a skilful poem, But what's the rhyme scheme did you say? Oh said I, the rhyme scheme's 'A'. So far, so good, but who would dream That with more lines I'd need more scheme? So I combined the rhyme and the thought: Then, horrors, came another thought .... The rhythm! ..... I quit! Dick Gibson, XIII. REVERIES llmaginative Poem . . . Honourable Mentionj Night descends the heavenly stairs Companioned by stars in groups and pairs, To banish all the little cares Of man. The golden moon aroused in mist Appears all-hallowed and angel-kissed, Greets each star and none is missed, Not one. Each little zephyr plays his part, As if 'twere breathed from angel's harp- To soothe the weary and anxious heart Of each. Stillness of night invades the ear, Peace engulfs that tyrant, Fear, Gently submerges each little tear In dreams. Amelia Gerhardt, XIII. THE TATLER THY LOVE lBest Philosophic or Religious Poeml With worshipping eyes of sparkling blue, The youth stood rapt in prodigious awe, At the morning world bejewelled with dew, And offered praise for what he saw. Oh God, my Father, who reigns above With predetermined thoughts, and skill Which yet to me dost prove Thy love, And dost my land with glories fill. How may I show in my few years, The thanks, the praise, that I as debtor Owe Thee, as with flow of tears My heart now learns to love Thee better? Donald Currie, XIII. A GIFT DIVINE QBest Imaginative Poemj Winelike, wafted, gentle Breeze, Throbbing voice of ageless trees, Leave thy cool secluded haunt Pure and free from envious taunt, And wake anew thy song, unsought, That paean of praise by Nature wrought. Dost know that by God's grace divine Thy vibrant tones a charm confine? Though time hast come to cast thy spell, The death of swooning winds to knell, There's nought in thy enchanted sigh To warn that Winter's snow is nigh,- Trees, shorn of Autumn's motley coat, Lift lyric arms to swell thy throat. Dost know that by God's grace divine Thy vibrant tones a charm confine? Jean Scrimgeour, XIII. INFERIORITY Hey, You! .... Not meg of course not: To him, 1'm but a mere small tot. I say, You! .... Not meg I'm shy! Just a plain insignficant guy. I beg your pardon, Sir! .... Not me! A sir? It's his mistake, why should I suffer? Hey, Kid! .... That's me! No less,' But gee, he knows I'm ...... Yes? Bud Ketchabaw, XIII. E7