Free Bird :: essays research papers

  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  The Road of Life Today we pause, to look into our past as well as our future. We remember when we were young, starting our trek down the Road of Life. The first place on this long and winding road was the Meadow of Childhood. This is where we met many new people and formed numerous friendships; most of which still exist today. However, we were unable to stay here, and so continued on our journey through the doors of Quabbin Regional, becoming some of the mightiest Panthers in all the land. Stepping through those doors also marked our emergence into the Desert of Adolescence, where many of us became tangled in the thorn bushes along the way. But we made it out, and from there we took our swim across the River of Wisdom. When we reached the opposite bank we paused in the Forest of Enchantment, which is where we stand together today. Looking back we can no longer see the Meadow of Childhood, for it is nothing but a faint memory to us now. The only thing we can see from here is the Valley of Adulthood, and the long-awaited climb to success. And although most of us are sad, somehow we know that the hardest part of our journey has come to an end. For we have sipped from the Water of Morals, Climbed the Rock of love, Swum the Sea of Knowledge, And ascended the Mountain of Truth. And as we continue on our journey, and say our last good-byes, I would like to congratulate you mighty Panthers from Quabbin Regional High. -Jason Holihan Senior Class Poem, Class of 2001   Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Lynrd Skynyrd once asked, â€Å"if I leave here tomorrow, would you still remember me.† There were only a few days left before high school was finally over, and I couldn’t help but wonder who would remember me when I left Quabbin.   Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  The last page was finally ripped off of the â€Å"Senior Class Countdown,† displaying the huge, colorful â€Å"0.† While most of my classmates sat in the hallway cleaning out their lockers, I was scurrying to room H121; Graduation Committee meeting.   Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  There we sat in the most uncomfortable chairs in the world putting the final touches on everything when it came time to decide whose poem would be chosen to represent our class at Baccalaureate. A vote had been taken at the previous meeting, and I waited uneasily for the results. With a unanimous vote, it was mine. My head began to spin and I thought I was going to throw up.