Vergennes Union High School - Blue and White Yearbook (Vergennes, VT)

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VERGENNES HIGH SCHOOL PAGES FOR POETS THEN IT’S SPRING Soon the snow will all be gone, The dry brown grass will disappear. Wild flowers will bloom in woods and fields, And robins and bluebirds will be here. Blue violets with hearts of gold Will peep 'neath canopies of ferns. Pale Mayflowers will then unfold. And the brown wren to her nest return. The peepers in the reedy marsh Will nightly pipe their chorus shrill, And he who walks through woods at night Mav hear the lonesome whip-poor-will. Lillian Husk, Class '40 SPRING At this time of year, Spring is nearly here. Spring is up in the sky. And robins passing bv. Spring is such a treat. No snow in the street. No dampness in the air. And warmer everywhere. Flowers and buds bursting. Green grass is thirsting, And though trees are in bloom. Yet spring can’t come too soon. Spring beautiful days. We’re in countless ways Glad to see you so near. We welcome you right here. John Beniamin, Class ’43 SNOWBOUND MARCH The snow fell gently to the ground; The world was hushed, no earthly sound. 'Twas time for birds and springtime cheer; Yet .all the world was gray and drear. Harder and harder fell the snow ; Fiercer and fiercer the wind did blow Till drifts piled high and formed an arch. We had once more a snowbound March. PAGE FOURTEEN Barbara Field, Class ’43

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BLUE AND WHITE DAY IS DONE Slowly the dying sun slips behind the mountains, as a gold coin would slip into the bank. The sun’s ruddy glow touches each fleecy cloud turning it a delicate pink like a rose. The cows slowly make their way to pasture and as they go, their shadows grow longer, for now the last rays of sun are touching the earth. The whole countryside seems content to submit itself to the demure tranquility of Evening. Then the cloak of night wraps itself about the earth, and with it come the little heralds that go from tree to tree whispering, “Day is done.” Etta Van Ornum, Class ’40 SPRING Spring always brings such a wonderful refreshing feeling like a cool drink to a thirsty man on a hot day. The buds begin to peep out from their winter’s nest as a new born chick stepping from its shell. The sun sheds its golden rays to give the pussy-willows’ furry little body sufficient heat to appear in full array. The fast melting snow runs down the road like so many thousand rivulets winding along their course. The wind makes you want to run and roam so the breezes can play through your hair. Thus spring comes and goes like the passing of a phantom. Dorothy Reed, Class ’40 ALONE Having finished my work for the evening, I sat on the back steps awaiting the return of my father. As I sat there alone, I could hear the chorus of the peepers doing its nightly practice and occasionally the guttural croak of a bullfrog down at the brook. The horizon, barren except for the silhouette of an old house, long ago vacated, made me think of the poem, “The lone wolf sits on the world’s far rim and he howls and it seems to comfort him.” When my father returned, soft warm rain came with him. But now if I should sit on the steps at twilight, yes, I could hear the peepers and the croak of a frog, but also the distant rumble of the approaching train, a piercing shriek, and the rumbling slowly receding into the night, then the flashing headlights of a motor as it roared past. The progress of man hath marred the beauty of nature. Frances Husk, Class ’42 PAGE THIRTEEN

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BLUE AND WHITE THE LAKE OF LIFE MOTHER Five years ago you left us, Elberta, Marilyn, Georgia and I. Never more to watch and guide us With your ever watchful eye. We see no more your loving smiles; Mother, why did you pass away? We miss the touch of your tender hands, We miss you more and more each day. Some day we all will meet again; We wonder if God knew best. We visit your lonely grave often, Knowing you are at last, at rest. Barbara Sprague, Class ’40 Perhaps the lake of life seems small, When as a child you’re on the shore; But as we start to cross it It’s much larger than before. You must be kind and helpful And try hard to do your part, But if you meet too many waves Go back to shore for another start. You may be out in the middle And run into a tempestuous storm. If you forget that it’s around A good habit you will form. Now at last you are across it; You have to strive no more. God will care for you tenderly On the other side of the shore. Margaret Chagnon, Class ’40 A WANDERER’S WISH Oh! to be in our Vermont, When the Spring is here, Just to listen to the birds Trilling songs so clear. Soon the fresh green grass peeps through, Gay flowers sway in the breeze, Then nod so gaily to each other, Sheltered by the giant trees. Lo! our troubles all have vanished See what the April showers brought, And now if only I could see, One more Springtime in Vermont! Cecile Lajoie, Class ’40 PAGE FIFTEEN