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Page 78 Wynnum High and Intermediate School
Many an unwary student has been caught there gazing in open-
mouthed wonder at those marvellous machines—wondering, no doubt.
how they can move without the aid of a tow-truck. I am sure some of
those “horseless carriages” were greying at the carburetter when
“Genevieve” was the last word in cars.
A rumour has been going around that a junk man called on our
revered Principal and offered him £5 for all the old iron under the fig
tree. He surely must have been blind.
Naturally, just as some people stand out in a crowd, so do some
cars. That dashing yellow MINX is such a one. It is said that it is
industriously covered by its owner more to prevent the eyes of the
uncultured gazing on such a profound work of art than to protect it
from the elements, i.e. AIR breathed on to its chromium splendour,
LAND (part of it anyway) thrown “in fun”, FIRE lit by irresponsible
students, and WATER squirted from those marvellous little weapons
named water pistols.
To end this short essay on a mercenary note : I have heard that
some enterprising students have contacted the City Council and asked
them if it would be possible to install parking meters under a certain
Moreton Bay fig tree. How convenient it would be if our Latin teacher
had to dash out and feed the meter in the middle of the period !
[Author’s note : To avoid detection I have used a fictitious name.]
CHRISTOPHER ROBIN, Form IV. Al.

The Poets
The poets are singing now and always,
Running ripple in the tide of time—
Men, seeing where the gutt’ring surface plays,
Think little of the offshot lights that shine.
But our clear echoes last when shouting dies.
Shivering down the time driven years;
The image remains when the model lies
Home to death, drowned in the spate of tears.
Perhaps our puny strength will last a day;
Even seen beauty cannot stop times flow.
Fading; lost; nought can the torrent stay—
But o’er word magic the years slowly go.
Mists, of triumphs, of losses—all are gone,
Yet the sung sweetness lingers on.
D. YOUNG, Form 6.

Cricket
Cricket is the grandest sport,
On that we all agree;
But when, alas, in slips we’re caught,
'Tis sad for you and me.
At bowling now I’d like to try,
But wonder why the ball will fly,
Right to the far-off crowded stand,
Whene’er I take it in my hand.
\ Tho’ ’tis the grandest sport of all,
As I can’t handle bat or ball,
A sport that’s not beyond my skill
I’ll find, so I will not score nil.
3 PETER BOND, Form 2G