Walkerville Collegiate Institute - Blue and White Yearbook (Windsor, Ontario Canada)

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BLUE AND WHITE POILU Elizabeth Galbraith, 13-A In years to come no mound will show, No stone will mark his grave; The sand w r ill heap, and sift, and flow O’er Paul Lebrun, the brave— And wand’ring Arabs ne’er will know The France he died to save. The sun beats down with piercing light, The sand burns o’er his breast; The cool winds kiss him in the night, And lull him into rest— Palm trees salute him from their height, And strange stars know him blest. His land is humbled - lost, his bride, His family, friends, and he— A wasting mound by Pharoh’s side, And next, the pulsing sea; But three fair sisters stand beside And guard eternally. “ - - Liberte - - Egalite - - Fraternite HORACE Ruth Fornataro, 13-A There was once a poet named Horace, We think he is simply abhorace, Rut when we translate We go a good gait When we have our tranlations beforace. Mr. Burr tries in vain to implorace To try to appreciate Horace, But we sit there and talk And look at the clock Because de does nothing but borace. One morn I saw a dew drop Soarkling in the sun. With shining light it twinkled, And then its day was done. One noon I saw the sun’s rays Pouring down from Heaven, And in my soul I drank its light, Which felt to me like leaven. One eve I saw a shining star Gleaming up on high, And up to it my soul aspires Until some day I die. To the Bright Pupil Bright pupil! Whose knowledge is your pride! You have your own bright head to guide You to the rank of one beside A scholar and a student; Methinks that there abides in thee Some other trait besides ability To rise above that ever restless sea— The not-so-prudent! Is it that they are soon depressed? A thoughtless thing! Who, once unblest, Do little on their memory rest, Or on their reason. And you could teach them how to find The hidden merits of their mind, They would not think you so unkind To try to please them. You have your jealous friends, I know, Those envious of the wit you show Both in your class and the world below, From day to day. Your fame is wrought by careful concentration, Resulting in the wonderful sensation Of something. POEM - Anon How great are the trials of learning, The homework and speeches and all, For them few pupils are yearning, But then, you know Mr. Ball! How great are the trials of teaching, Especially the subject of French, Says Miss Dickey, that silver-haired maiden, That short, petite little wench. “For Job had no trials or troubles” She says when an answer we miss, ’Cause our heads are simply like bubbles Which, stuck with a pin, would just hiss. Page Thirty eight

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SPRING FEVER by J. P. L- Love me, Honey ? Sure I do. Kiss me, Honey ? ’Fraid to. Cold? About to freezs. Want my coat? Just the sleeves. Full or empty? Full, please. Winter Climax Claire Bontront, 13-C Icicles hung from the roof tops, The snow was piling high. The wind around the sparkling eaves Went whistling merrily by. The landscape looked so peaceful, Covered with glistening snow, It seemed to defy the north wind, Just daring it to blow; The tang of the frosty morning Nipped many a rosy cheek, As a new, gray dawn awoke to find That winter was at its peak. In the cheery springtime rain, Jimmy Cockroach sings again; In the soft enchanting breezes, Mr. Cricket gets the sneezes. All the fleas in bits of rope, Warble forth their songs of hope; Little mice come scurrying out To greet us with a song and shout; Frogs and toads in colours gay Croak to greet the coming day. Spring has such a cheery sound, ’Specially down around the ground. Dorothy Woods and Phyllis Martin, 10A. Page Thirty-seven

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Men of Canada Claire Bontront, 13-C Along the street the marching feet Beat rhythm to the band, Canadian soldiers trim and neat Are guarding sea and land. From morn till night they’ll fight, fight, fight, Long hours they’ll endure, Their bodies strain with might and main To keep us safe and sure. Page Thirty-nine