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JOURNEY’S END
                         Mile upon weary mile of everlasting tragedy,
                         Not knowing when, and if. your destiny
                         Will bring new friends
                         When your journey ends.
                         You look back on the lonely track.
                         The sun accustomed to your back.
                         The trees appearing send
                         You warnings of your journey's end.
                         Bleak faces to the sun.
                         A hoarse voice yells out. we've won.
                         A few helping words from me'old mate — Ben.
                         “Ow are ya', Mack, how' ya'!" Journey's end.
                                               KEN OWENS. 8C.


                        BEST PROSE ARTICLE (GRADE 8)
                             A SCENE BY CANDLELIGHT
              It was a quiet evening, so. as there was nothing else to do. I took a stroll
           through the sullen old town.
              All the houses had a warm glow about them until I came to a small blue
           one. It seemed as though there was no life at all inside it. But when I took
           another look. I saw one small candle glowing in what I supposed was the
           lounge room. It was quite a large room and inside I could see a man and two
           small children.
              They looked very poor, for the children, like their father, were very thin
           and pale. But then my eyes fell on another being. She looked as if she must
           be the mother. She was bent over as if crying.
              I wanted to leave this unhappy scene, but I could not. I seemed to be
           fixed to this spot and my eyes seemed to be glued to the room. I wished
           I could right what was wrong in this house of misery. Suddenly my legs felt
           able again and I began to run down the street towards my own home.
              The next day I drew a considerable amount of money out of the bank
           and then I wandered through the streets looking in vain for the small blue house.
           I did not find it. Maybe it was just as well.
                                           SUZANNE CHRISTIANSEN. 8E.




















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