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Page 64                          Wynnum High and Intel-mediate School
                      A, or The Deserted Inverted V.
                         With any due apology to Wiljam Wardz-W^reo
                                   For 1 have learned
                      To look on English not as in the hour
                      Of useless thought; but hearing oftentimes
                      The still, sad music of the inverted V,
                      Not harsh nor grating, but as pleasing to
                      The ear as any other. I have felt
                      A presence that disturbs me, with the rage
                      Of thwarted want, because the answer is
                      Inverted “E” and mine inverted “V”.
                      A club for its advancement we have formed,
                      And round the ocean and the living air
                      And the blue sky, and in the mind of man,
                      A revolution we shall instigate,
                      And for its right right bravely shall we fight
                      Until one glorious day shall dawn on earth
                      When all the world shall recognise its worth;
                      And “uh” instead of “err,” shall be the call
                      And my answer revered by one and all.
                      (By the Phonetics Phanatics, alias President and
                      Secretary of the Society for the Advancement of
                      The Inverted V.)
                             ALL DONATIONS WELCOMED.
               To those who have not yet entered into the field of phonetics by
           means fair or foul, let this be a grim and timely warning—DON’T ! !
                                               MARGARET KERR,
                                               GLENNIS MARTIN,
                                                                   Form V.


                     Parody on R. Browning’s “Home Thoughts, From Abroad.”
                      Cadet's Thoughts, From a Camp
                  Oh, to be in Greenbank
                  Now that camp is here,
                  And whoever sleeps in Greenbank
                  Wakes, each morning, never fear,
                  By the strident blast from the lowest tent
                  Where the C.S.M. in the first was sent,
                  While the officers snore on the note of a sow
                  In Greenbank—now.
                  And after breakfast, when work follows,
                  And the officer yells at all us fellows.
                  Hark, where my dirty rifle left unclean
                  Stands out a mile and causes him to hover
                  Blessing and cursing—for the bent eye’s seen—
                  That’s the harsh truth; he shouts each word twice over
                  Lest we should think we ever could deceive him
                  With such a trivial whim.
                  And though the eyes look tough with angry yen,
                  All will be gay when whistle blows again
                  For slight relief, the little sarge takes over
                  —Far brighter than this ruddy thoughtless rover.
                                                       ALAN EVANS
                                                                  Form VI,
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