Vandergrift High School - Spectator Yearbook (Vandergrift, PA)

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THE SPECTATOR 27 WINTER The grass has ceased its growing, And the chilly winds are blowing, And it’s coming time for snowing As we get our warm clothes out. Soon the sleigh bells will be ringing, We can hear the snow birds singing, And the icicles are clinging To the frozen water spout. Where the old time lovers flirted; The lanes are now deserted, And their sparks have been concerted In the parlor by the grate. The hunters deer are stalking, And the tramp is southward walking, And the sewing circle’s talking Puts their victims in a state. But though the air is freezing, And it gives us fits of sneezing, Yet we’re filled with thots most pleasing As we ope the clothes press door. For, ever since September We have viewed it, and remember That the togs of last December, We must wear a season more. —LaRue Frye, ’24. “LEAP YEAR” Girls—Leap Year is really here, Now we can have a chance Just pick him out and then say “dear,” Here’s the end of “Our Romance.” ’Tis time we girls should have a say, But it only comes once in four Look out Boys, keep out of the way, The girls are after you galore. Many a fellow will have to say “Yes,” When he would rather say “No,” But rather than hurt her feelings, I guess, He’d try to survive the blow. Boys, you’ll have to watch your step, During the year 1924, For some sweet girl will get you yet No matter how lucky you’ve been before. Libby, I know will say to Sam, I’m through with schools and books Gee, I can make delicious Baked Ham, And Oh! How good it looks.

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26 THE SPECTATOR Put light and hope in your eyes, You’ve lots to live for, I vow. I’ve had lots of troubles. I’ve had lots of falls. But why worry, buddy It’s happened after all? Come with me, a friend, I’ll help you through all strife; Without a doubt, without a worry. To mar so short a life. Why worry, life is sweet, The past is gone forever, And with the future we must compete, So why worry? —Juliet Costanzo, ’24. “POPPIES” Flowers with caps of crimson. Besprinkled with shining dew. Cover acres and acres of sloping ground Where a soldier died for you. The wind from the leeward flows softly At the close of the sunny day. And as the scarlet caps bend gently We seem to hear them say. “We mark the place where many a lad Was sacrificed at the Altar of war, Where others were taken from off the field Bleeding and wounded and sore.” “You ask why our color is not of white Why white is for peace you know, While we stand for battle and bloodshed And war that is filled with woe.” “We mark the places where soldiers met And brothers and sweethearts were slain, Where fathers killed sons without even a sigh And with only a tyrant to blame.” “Are we then not rightfully colored Or should our color be white. But who can stand pure and spotless In the midst of dread war and strife?” And then all is still on the calm cool air Their murmurs have ceased all too soon. And only a tender, sweet echo remains From the dead, that the Poppy might bloom. —Eugene Han-old, ’25.

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28 THE SPECTATOR We’ll try to get you with our looks, And what are you going to do We’ll say we will make the best of cooks, And the next thing—we’ve got you. But Boys, you know it’s all in the game, You can’t blame the girls at all Don’t be a sorehead if we want your name, For if we ask you, we’re sure you’ll fall. You’ll be so stunned when we ask you What kind of a ring do you wish ? Oh! nothing but a diamond. And you’ll buy it, you poor fish. Now girls, don’t be backward, For another time will be too late If you want him just propose, Next “Leap Year’s” not till ’28. Nineteen twenty-four is Ours, And Girls, do your best If he don’t say “Yes” send him flowers, And on your card the word “At Rest.” —Agnes Hammond, ’25. FORLORN AND DESERTED ’Twas the end of the battle The last man had fled, Among the dead bodies He was left there for dead. Forlorn and deserted And lost in the night. He crept to the stream And waited for light. He bathed there his wounds In the blood stained stream. And lay for the night In an unconscious dream. The morning dawned there Bright and clear, And he raised His dying head to hear, A word of Prayer A hand to cheer, A Red Cross Nurse A Friend so near. “Saved at last” They heard him say. And near the stream He, unconscious lay. —Adelaide Coleman, ’2G.