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POEM
                                         Rise
                                    Upwards balloon
                                       Skyward,
                                  Float red and wonderful
                             Not bound by earth's malignant pull
                    Up, till your rubber lungs burst with the clean air of freedom.
                                                  STUART WEST, 12B.

                               DROUGHT IN THE BUSH
              In the still hush of noon stand the towering gums, watching over their
           kingdom — the bush. Not a murmur nor a whisper breaks the silence. Even
           the bees have ceased their gay humming.
              The once lush grasses are now lifeless and brown. Small clumps of grass
           fight their way to existence through the cracks of the solid earth. The birds,
           which once nested in the cool, shady branches of the green trees, have flown
           elsewhere, seeking new homes. In previous times the creek bubbled swiftly
           past. It is hard to believe as one gazes at the dry, stony creek-bed before one.
           There is not even a gentle breeze to disturb the quiet monotony. The trees
           droop their branches — ashamed to own their colourless leaves. It is time
           for the wildflowers to bloom and beautify the bush, but they too. it seems.
           are not eager to display their pretty faces and to fill the air with their fresh
           fragrance.
              It is hoped that one day some inky-black storm clouds will loom up and
           break the disastrous drought. Each welcome drop of rain will assist in changing
           the sorrowful scene to the succulent forest it used to be.
                                              CHERYL GARRAWAY, 9C1.










                                         Birth : A beginning and an end.
                                                       BEING
                                                The start of life.
                                                The end of lifelessness.
                                         Life : The end of birth.
                                                A continuous state of being.
                                                The beginning of death.
                                         Death : The end ?
                                                Or is it the beginning of birth ?

                                                   JANETTE McCRAE, 1 IB.









           “Cobbler" —Robert Moore, 12A.

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