=‘1‘HE CADRE, Nov. 5.....pase 11 
     
    
   
   
    
     SNOW 
     
    

    
     You want snow' 
     
     well I've got lots of it 
     
     up here, in my mind. 
     
     It isn't the snow 
     
     that covers the ground, 
     
     or catches on the limbs of trees. 
     
     for the moon to shine on. 
     
     It isn't the snowh 
     
    

    
     ound roots ouses, 
     
     zgztmzkes gou warm with its coldness. 
     
     My snow keeps you 
     
     from doing things you want to do, 
     
     and keeps you from seeing 
     
     things you want to see. 
     
     So I must stay. 
     
     safe within myself, 
     
     making presents of my thoughts, 
     
     wrapping them up with pages of poetry 
     
     to give to anyone who wants them. 
     
    

    
     Stretch 
     
    
   
   
    
         
     
    
   
   
    
     CHCRDS Te is 
     
     the tie that binds my 
     
     Chords from the sky Strength 
     
     Chords in the city Fe gives me 1 v 
     
     Chords for a laugh ‘ 0 e 
     
     Chords full of pity and res t 
     
     V pec 
     
    
   
   
    
     Feed us- 
     
    

    
     Je are the involved 
     
    

    
     ife lie at your affluent 
     
     feet 
     
    
   
   
    
     He gives me his dreams. 
     
     I giVe him myself 
     
    
   
   
    
     Ii thout reservation . 
     
    
   
   
    
     Help us- 
     
     tfe are the disillusioned 
     
    
   
   
    
     Whose eyes you cannot meet 3y W°r1d 15 in her eyes 
     
    
   
   
    
     Her smile reflects my thoughts 
     
     She changes my past 
     
    

    
     Colours my present 
     
     And fonms my future 
     
    

    
     There is no time 
     
    

    
     without her 
     
    

    
     Only a void 
     
    

    
     That is me - 
     
    

    
     an empty space. 
     
    
   
   
    
     Cr Spurn us- 
     
     :fe are the unwanted 
     
     Turn your head as We weep 
     
    
   
   
    
     Chords coming off 
     
     Chords coming on 
     
     Chords that are here 
     
     Chords that are gone. 
     
    
   
   
    
     Bruce Ogilvie Neville Bawes 
     
    
   
   
    
       
     
    
   
   
    
       
     
    
   
   
    
     A wood nymph gathers yarrow clusters 
     
     ‘ of pink and white, 
     
    

    
     Each blossom a dimpled smile, 
     
    

    
     Yet her bouquet is not complete 
     
    

    
     -For onward she slips 
     
    

    
     And seeks the aconite of blue. 
     
    
   
   
    
     Softly now must she glide, 
     
    
   
   
    
     For she nears the land of the mannikin 
     
     In her pilgrimage for the blue butteroup. 
     
    
   
   
    
     Tbny Scullion