Toronto Teachers College - Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

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LITERARY CONTEST NUVEMBER 11, 1965 On the steps A shadow is cast, A shadow, a memory Of the past ---- On the hill A white cross stands, A cross, a mark Of troubled lands ---- Lighted lanterns down the river flow, Lighted lanterns, where did the people go? First came the bomb, then the heat, The people melted in defeat ---- Poppied wreaths placed in solemn row, Poppied wreaths, where did the soldiers go? First were the talks, then the war, Soldiers who breathe no more ---- Won't you please put down your gun And gird yourself with thought, my son? Think of a child, innocent and dear, Of a child's eyes distorted with fear, Ot trees, of valleys, of lakes blue, Ot the destruction only war can do, Of a smile, a handshake, a kiss, Of what war does to all of this .... SHARON O'NElLL FAIR

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LITERARY CONTES-T - I A li T 'Q y. . l 'lfy 'i . XX ' -1 l l.tri5l'l . lk. i llli- ,iff Think hard my little child, For only you can remember When last you robbed the Nest ot her priceless iewels. Think hard my little child, For only you can remember That spot in Grandma's garden Where, with your baby feet, You trampled golden flowers, And did not give them Any hope of eternity. Think hard my cruel child, For in this chair of judgement You sit awaiting words from P'ower's High - And, yes, Uneasily you sit - You sense that death is Overtaking your weak and Child-like body - cruel child You can do nothing now .... .Lf J L. SILVER X It yi ,4 J i ig l lil ,fl i ...Ai 'Xxx M X .X rx KX 4 cz' ' Z7 lr l 2 l I Ax li ll Z x X XXX f' x X L M Il 'l I if f , , 5 .. - 47 if 1 Forgiveness A more than trifling pain you cost me, As I hung a moment on a thorn, While reaching to one ot life's roses, amid the clutching brambles. The pain, I do not say, was trifling, At another time it could have been. Yet in that moment you and no other plucked my arm Had another gripped me pushing, With Herculean force toward that bristling hedge, lt had been nothing. But your gentlest nudge, whose word was hope, Drove deep the troubling barb. The sore must now be closed For now the thorn has gone - time's tweezers have borne it away. And we shall once again reach out The full-stretched arm together To those roses deep among the briars. B. ROWE 29