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

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THE TRAVELLING SALESMAN CSecond Prize Humorous PoemD Of all the people you chance to meet, On a country road or a city street, 'l'here's none you'd rather see more less, Than a travelling salesman, I would guess! Though he isn't wanted, has nothing to say, That man will come any time of the day. His welcome he knows without any doubt, If he ever gets in, you'll not get him out! VVith polite little knock, he stands at your door, Piled to the head with gadgets galore. The part of the face that at first you see, ls the broadest smile that ever could be. Good morning, ma'am, and how do you do? I've something here that'll interest you. Now l'll just be a minute, if you'll let me in, I tell you this bargain just won't come agin ! No thanks , say you, with a quick reply, But the infernal man has now slipped by. All over your table, your chairs and your floor, He's piled his stuff and is unloading more. To his story there comes no earthly end, For such a fiend will never mend. He insists, he argues, he sells if he can, Always the way of a travelling salesman! Josephine Knautz, XIA. O LIFE ON A TRAVERS' BUS fSecond Prize School Life Poemi Morning and night we gather together, On a Travers' bus, in all kinds of weather. Vile greet the driver with the usual eye, To the rest of the kids, we just holler Hi ! Everyone runs for his favourite nook, To discuss the exams or the thrilling new book, A boy with a girl, the usual sight, To secure a date for a show that night. THE TATLER The air is full of humour and wit. We could be old-fashioned and solemnly sit, But myriad are the tricks that we play, Lunch pails are hidden, and gloves stowed away. So goes our life, day after day, VVith the jolts, the bumps, and the terrible sway. Although our pranks are often quite daring, The bus driver says he's really past caring. Eleanor Lee, Xli. ..l0 . THE STATUE fHonourable Mention School Life Poem, All day on the window-sill he rests, W'ith bony knee and sunken chest, His head bowed low, his hand on knee But who is this? VVhat a mystery! His skin is plaster, his hair is, too. He's not at all like me or you. He doesn't breathe and he doesn't eat, And l've never seen him stand on his feet. He just sits there in the nice warm sun, VVhile down below the kiddies run. He soaks in the heat from the radiator, Who? Our Dying Gladiator . He is Miss Grieve's own pride and joy. She handles him as a child a toy. She dusts him, cleans him, keeps him trim, But not a whisper of thanks from him! He just sits there and takes on dust. He must be old, I'm sure he must, But he just sits there all day, at rest, VVith bony knee and sunken chest. Bond Truefitt, XIIB. Q. , . ,,f 0, . 5 r Si 43

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I M ARY CLAIRE MacEVVAN Gerry PROSPECT fFirst Prize Serious-Imaginative Poeml The sand lies low in yon great glass, and e'en As men prepare anew to chart their course In peace, o'er far horizons, with remorse, They hear the drums of strife, their source unseen. Ilegot of troubled times the new year comes- Is ushered in by selfishness and greed: The way e'erclouded grows, and direst need Of guidance reappears . . . the old succumbs. But now with moments pure and infinite, They, on the threshold of disaster's cleft, May purge the past and start, once more, aright To set the world: of righteousness bereft And ignorant are they, but, ere the night, May greed outgrown be, and peace be left! Richard jones, XIII. .....,-0 .- MOON DANCE CSecond Prize Serious-Imaginative Poemj The Indian lore They say, is a bore , But I have discovered XNhat others uncovered. Your wish is allowed If this be followed. XVheu the star's a red hue And the moon's a deep blue, Then walk just one pace From the maple tree's face. And dance the moon dance And sing Indian chants. Hop round the bright fire, Leap higher and higher. Make four twists around . . . Then down on the ground!! On a stone I did stumble And oh, I did tumble! Look how the moon laughs At me on the grass! Edith Moon, XII. 42 SUCCESS CVVith Apologies to Kiplingj CFirst Prize Humorous Poemj If you can rise up early in the morning, And breathe in guests of winter's frosty air, If you can reach the school ten minutes early, And settle down to work when you get there, If you can brave the fiery heat of summer, Forgetting baseball games and swimming- pool, And always sit in solemn concentration, You'll be the pride and wonder of the school. If you can forge ahead when all around you Examinations' clutching fingers loom, If you can show a sage's keenest wisdom Though others sit in ignorance and gloom: Repeating oft the cry, I'll do or die, You'll some day be a travelling magnate, And we will stand and watch your train go by! Mary Mason, XA. i01. THE VIGIL CHonourable Mention Humorous Poemb The hour is late, but still I sit. I strive to sew, to read, to knit. The hour is late, the stillness deep. How I long to go to sleep! But still I n1ust my vgiil keep, I have no time just now, for sleep. The phone then rings-I hurry there. They've gone out, I don't know where. The radio plays with soft entice. To go to sleep would be so nice. If I should sleep, my eyes should close, Something would happen Goodness knows! I sit up straight, XVas that a cry? I guess not. How I sigh. Once more I resume my knitting, It's so boring, baby-sitting ! Margaret French, Spec. Comm. THE TATLER

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TRANSCENDENCE CHonourable Mention Serious Poemj Stark against the fading blush of summer's day, Etched in lacy black upon the evening sky, Leafage ,softly soughing in the twilight breeze, Lithesome birches toss their branches high. Shimmering moonlight creeping o'er the earth, liathes each silvery branch in mystery, 'Turns to shining filigree each leaf, Lending truth to birches' ghostly history. Dawning light's hrst flush of bronze-like hue, Gilds each trembling trunk to brightest gold: , Sunlight forms a nimbus round each crown, Hirches glorified as knights of old. Jean Scrimgeour, XHC. 1..,0T,.. CATCH THAT INK The history teacher was about to say, Now Caesar was killed on that sad day, When, Catch that ink! was roared from the back. Came a bellowing shout, and a loud ker- smack, And blue-black ink oozed over the floor, As bedlam reignedg there was shouting galore. Get jerry! Dicks yelled, 'tHurry up, and run. Aw shucks ! said the boys, VVe were just having fun. , The girls were angry as they laboriously toiled To clean the dresses which the ink had soiled. XYho dunnit?,' Dicks roared, and his face turned red, As the room fell silent with terror and dread. Me, squealed a wavering voice from the rear, As Hob stood up, knees shaking with fear. See here, said Dicks, '!VVe'll have no more 5 E And the room fell silent as it was before. Maurice Deliindt, XIA. 44 W BURIED TREASURE Many hundred years ago, Ships that knew not ice or snow, Stately galleons, burley men, Sailed the seas, plundered then, The southern world. Ships, with rustic guns aboard, Guarding jewels of pirate hoard, Stacking all their worldly stores, Sailed to verdant, palm-grove shores Unknown to others. Here they marked secluded spots On their treasure maps as dots. Swiftly with their course begun, Sought bullion ships or gems or gum To make life merry. Usually they died, by fate, Murdered by the mate's best mate, He too died by a pirate's hand, And likewise vanished from this band Forever with his secret. Robert lVlacLennan, XIA .-.-.. 0 T..-1 SCHOOL DAZE I crawl out each morning An hour before seven And, oh! how l wish I could wait till eleven. To the bathtub I rush For an icy cold shower, That, somehow, helps me To forget the hour. My breakfast devoured In a wild sort of flurry, I, then, for my hat Begin a mad scurry. It's not in the hall! lt's not on the chairs! Oh! now l remember, I left it upstairs! Here comes the bus! You should see me run: At least for this day- The beginning is done. Gwen Kneller, XD THE TATLFR