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THE MAROON TIGER Page Twenty-nine Back Home McKinley Christopher Back home’s a place where hill-sides old Bring back my childhood days, And once again I laugh to feel The thrills of childish ways. Back home the doors are never locked When prodigals return. The fatted calf is often killed, For cares like candles burn. Back home’s the place where hearth fires burn, When nights are cold and long, Where parents kneel and whisper prayers When wayward sons go wrong. Back home’s the place where evening songs Tenderly fill the air With sympathy and condolence To grief and sorrows bear. Back home my room is kept reserved With table, rocker, bed. My gun lays in the rack above, My dog is daily fed. Back home in faith and courage real My kind dear mother lives, She toils, she prays, she fights for me, And lasting counsel gives. Life Cycle of a Woman Grady Farley, ’29 ’Twas yesterday at dawn when I saw her A babe, she rolled and cooed, Nurtured in her mother’s arms. At noon she ran and played, And jollied in the gleaming sun. When even came, her form was fair, And men with minds of wretched dogs, To soothe their longing after lust. Craved for her dainty form. But guided by a virgin’s mind, She wriggled from from their hellish web- To What words or tongues can tell The tenderness 1 feel. When I gaze in your eyes? Sweet gentle magic spells Just steal away my sighs And then my poor heart swells With mirth. No sadder moods Can shade my soul, when wiles But saber gods of mid-night came And darkness made her bold. This rnorn her eyes of tenderness Had turned to gory red. Her voice once sweet was harsh and crude. Her song was, “Give me men, and wine.” She pr yed and hoped for joy. She lived for joy that thrills, but kills Tomorrow I’ll see her, Victim of her direful lust Sweet breezes will cool her fev’ish brow — But she will be no more. Unique spring from your smiles, And charms beam from your eyes, When songs of sirens is Your voice, your form is bliss, (A bliss that can be seen) When I’m your slave And you my queen.