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PAGE FOUR
A MISCELLANY OF MOODS
Follow—
My son is a cat out, and I like sun and cream.
And if I find my own way
You say ye are green.
Youth says:
Will I come a day, in old age
Acquire a faith,
Be a age?
God forbid!
The cremic say—
Here's my world in a nut shell!
The wallis are close and hard!
The meat thick and bitter—
An old nut and somewhat noticeable.
The poet say—
The night is a lovely thing,
Why bind it with mine precious words
And sell it for silver quill!
Never the spirit.
NOVEMBER BLACKBIRDS
A dream attagain,
Seidl in cottagewood,
Rasping in blacklager,
In a black wind.
Cill ward ruffs.
Up three feathered thrushes
The cold brick buff.
The thin black, sleek coasts.
Cold is November.
Quick they thrill.
South swift they thrill.
Winging over the hill.
That seet reflections back.
-Vida Bell.
-Blademouth.
ROSE'S HOUSE SHOPS
"Oh for mercy makes tales off that screwing record long cough comes to me to tell something the creased amusement in me, George but just called and said he was in town, at the hour-burning, at the master planning of battles, but there was a delicacy among the father of hard-coupled children, at the eld
THE MAGAZINE SECTION OF THE UNIVERSITY DAILY KANSAN January 27.1939