Villa Maria Academy - Trumpet Yearbook (Erie, PA)

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Proteges of Spring The little debutante buds In dresses rainbow-hued, Colne peeping from the shelteringleaves Shyly, slyly, all bedewed. Hyacinth, all-dressed blue- Her wealth of fragrance, beauty rare, As protecting leaves unfold. Jonquil, dressed in merry yellow Bravely looks around, And feels so very mighty there, An inch above the ground. Thus these little flowerlets Sweet, dainty frightened things, For the world, as yet, is new To such proteges of Spring. E. M. M., '31 Oiwikl i Three Crosses , 050 Three crosses st-and on Calvary's hill, Three crosses awesome, lone and still. The earth grows dark, the people fear, They pray, they think the end is near. Three crosses stand on C'alvary's hill Three crosses, awesome, lone and still. Between two thieves the Crucified, lVho did no wrong, and for us died. Three crosses stand on Calvary's hill, Three crosses, awesome, lone and still. He'll conquer death, He'll rise again And glorified-this Saviour of men. E. M., '31 TT

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Memories OCDO Our sojourn here at the Villa is now rapidly drawing to a close, but some-- how we do not feel the jubiliation we anticipated. Students generally look forward with a great deal of joy to the day when they will be graduated for it- is their crown of success after four years of striving and effort. Frankly, we do feel a sense of satisfaction that we have, in common par- lance, made good , but it seems to me the poet spoke truly who said, the greatest joy is always tinged with a bit of sadness. Smiles and tears are life's composition. We are happy because the goal is won and life is about to place us in a different setting, another act in the drama. Some will pursue higher studies while others, less fortunate, will take their places in the workaday world about us. How Memory, that sweet haunting spirit from the past, takes ns back to our first day in high school! It seems as but yesterday when we first entered its portals as untutored young fledglings, awed by the solemn but peaceful walls. lVere we not a little thrilled by the thought that we were now high-school students? Here in the years that followed were we not taught the beauties of life and how to understand and appreciate them? We1'e' not the beauties of our religion, of poetry, of music, art and literature placed vividly before our minds? In an environment naturally conducive to contemplation, we enjoyed de- lightful Spring noon hours wandering in the cool grove while around and about us the Sisters passed with grave and measured tread. Long will we remember with a pang of regret, the peaceful and holy stillness of OUR LAIJY'S CHAPEL where oft we uttered a fervent prayer. v. D., ei. 030050 Radio Dreams Many places oft I go 'VVhile listening to my radio. I hear soft notes from old Japan I hear a woman, child or man, Whilst I picture in my mind People of most every kind. I may see matadors in Spain Or lovers in a country land I sometimes see the Pope in Rome A royal person on his throne. A famous athlete playing games, A politician gaining fame, 7 0130 Some little mademoiselle in France, A knight of old with spear and lance, I see the mountains rising high, The raging sea-the flaming sky. I picture flaming youth today, Tomorrow-sweethearts old and gray. I vision men both rich and poor And powerful nations, strong and sure The man with millions ne'er may know Vlfhat I dream, or where I go. There is no region high nor low I have not been-with my radio. E. ia., is at 'ze

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Mother and Father Mother--to NVl10111 we flee for COIIIIOIT In all our troubles-great and sinall, She wl10 is so UHCll:Y1'SI2l11Clll1g- Is 11Ot her 1131116 sweetest of all? Father-who is friend and brother, He to XVllO1ll we give our trust, Ill inatters both of soul and body, Is he not always right and just? Oh! the care with which our parents Trained us from our childliood days, In our hearts we love then1 dearly- I.et us ever si11g their praise! V. s., '33 030030 An Attempt 020 A poem, we were told to write For Monday, and this is Sunday night I have tl1e paper, I have the pen, I have a thought 11ow and theng But when it comes to write it down My brow becomes a wrinkly frown. For I do not seeni to put the thought In rhyniing lines just as I ought. I sit and gaze froin out 111y window, And decide I'll write about the snow- So soft and sparkling, erinine white That brightens up tl1e dreary 11ight. It falls so slowly from above. How pure these little flakes of love! But aside from that I must admit My little candle won't stay litg I just can't think what else to say In the supposed-to-be poetic way. I didn't realize it was so hard Trying to imitate a. bard. So please appreciate this attempt And do not regard it with contenipt. Your thought must be--I surely li11OlV it! Sl1e'll 11ever, never be a poet. A. W., '31 ai 78 Et-