Where in our High School was her equal? Heaven had willed otherwise, there was none. Surely many saw her beauty, Gayle Johnson's, but none did I see, that she allowed wooing her. And she, when she saw me, grand with eyes for none save her, she gazed as none of that High School had ever gazed. Those girls who walked with her, watched were hushed as though they had looked briefly into the Temple of Ramses. It was as if both he and she were promised, but unmatched. Nonetheless soon this silent romance would dissipate; now each must pick the yellow rose and throw the red back. It was not then, and now the yellow rose is old and black and twisted. But back then it was green, fresh and young, if not wild.



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