The children pressed to each other like so many roses, so many weeds, intermixed, peering out for a look at the hidden sun
Ready? Ready. Now? Soon
Do the scientists really know? Will it happen today, will it? Look, look; see for yourself
It had been raining for seven years; thousand upon days compounded and filled from one end to the other with rain,
It's stopping, It's stopping!
All day yesterday they had read in class about the sun, About how like a lemon it was, and how hot. And they had written small stories or essay or poems about;
I think the sun is a flower, That blooms for just one hour.
I did, I did.
Aw,you didn't write that!
They turned on themselves, like a feverish wheel, all tumbling spokes. Margot stood alone. She was a very frail girl who looked as if she had been lost in the rain for years and the rain had washed out the blue from her eyes and the red from her mouth and the yellow from her hair. She was an old photograph dusted from an album,