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I think the sun is a flower, That blooms for justone hour.
The children pressed to each other like somany roses, so many weeds, intermixed,peering out for a look at the hidden sun.
Margot stood apart from them, from thesechildren who could ever remember a timewhen there wasn’t rain and rain and rain.
I think the sun is a flower, That blooms for justone hour. That was Margot’s poem, readin a quiet voice in the still classroom whilethe rain was falling outside.
"Hey, everyone, let’s put her in a closet before the teacher comes !"
The jungle burnedwith sunlight as the children, released from their spell, rushed out, yelling into the springtime.
They unlocked the door, even more slowly, and let Margot out.