POET'S
CORNER
TheyllDoItJEveryTime By Jimmy Hatlo f A , I
; .,, , CLOSE TO C0LUM3IJ6 DAY AND VauiSL1' ttZfr. r)l 1 '
f?OT ANY .TORS VOLfD X., STIU. HAVEKiT 6NEK1 VOOE VAer f ERE AS DRAB AS SiSTZSj VI I A ML- I
Sunday, Oct. , 1963 Page 4
"JUST"
Just a lew words of praise
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HOUSE OF THE MAN t'A"VS2
PLANE. EH1? VV'ivJ
IN
a
r
TOMOCPOW
I Wish to PAY
HIM A MOST
80NAI
UNDISTUREEO
VISIT I
SUITE so, major!
THE PROPEB
ARRANGEMENTS
HALL BE MADE I
Eg80NAL
iOISTUfe!
iHIU ACROSS THE HATIOK THE SEARCH
MJK ink lwl njinL nLKLnui 'a
ONLY PAGE THRIK HEWS, AS PLAHES
CROHE LOW OVSH THE GREAT HARSH
AND SHIFTS PROBE THt MUDDY CREEKS.
MKT I
From the lips of a friend
Will make the day brighter
As you near it's end.
Just a knock at the door
With a greeting that's right
Will make someone happy
Before it is night.
Just a telephone call
They wait for your rings.
What joy and gladness
To their heart it brings.
Just a little short note '
Saying, "1 think of you."
Will bring cheer to someone.
It's a small thing to do.
Just a wave and a nod
As you go on your way.
Try giving your friendship
Each hour of the day.
Jennie Cliarles.
"TO CHUCK"
We know you'll soon be going
To a land far over the sea.
Happy lands in this country
Known as the Republic of
Turkey.
A year can be so very long 1
If unhappy you should be.
So make up your mind to adjust,
And with your leaders agree.
' Quite different are these people
In customs, religion and dress.
At first this may seem odd,
And surprise you may express.
Small countries need protection.
Be proud that you're lending a
hand.
When you've completed your
mission
You'll be returned to your na
tive land.
Turkey is one of our strona
Allies
So really you are not far away.
In this age of jets and space
ships
Any country is reached in a day.
Jennie Charles.
DREAMS OF A MAN
OVERSEAS
'Way over in Morocco on the
shores of drifting sand,
Where the scorpions and the
spiders
Act as if they own the land,
And the flics they are a
swarmin ,
Like a hive of angry bees !
And miles of lonely desert,
Is all a feller sees.
And the sun it is a beamin',
'Til you feel you'll melt away,
That's about the time vou're
longin, for Uie good old USA.
And you seem to see in a mir
age.
Tile forests deep and cool.
And fancy you are slandin',
By a deep and limpid pool.
And the' trout they are a
humpin ,
And you're longin' for a pole.
Just to latch onto a big one.
And to pull him from the hole.
And you hear the wild geese
callin'
And you're longing' for a gun.
So that you can go a huntin',
And have a lotta fun.
And you smell the goose a
roastin',
And the good ole pumpkin pie,
And all the folks are gatherin".
For the fest that's slandin' by,
And you know that you got
memories,
That no one can take away,
And you're glad you'll soon be
leavin'
For the good old USA.
Grace Jones,
To a son overseas.
THE OLD WOODEN ROCKER
As I sit here resting in my mod
i ern dav chair
I'm thinking back of an old rocker
oi many years ago . . .
I'm sure there isn't another like
it anvwhere .
How it made a body's heart glow!
Its arms were perfect, and curved
just right
The hi-back and head-rest gave
comfort no end.
When a body was tired and worn,
what a welcome sight.
And what a welcome friend.
It seemed that old wooden rocker
had a heart . . .
It went through many genera
tions, and was very old. '
There were many a household in
which it shared a part,
And comforted many a weary
soul.
It seems I rocked through life in
that old chair . . .
It heard many an old song and
many a fairy tale.
W hile I rocked my babies to sleep
there . . .
And at times it heard many a
wail.
But at last it broke down way
beond repair.
jAnd we knew the old rocker would
have to go.
Like many a tired body who had
sat to rest there
By the fireside's evening glow.
Mrs. Russell E. Jones.