When storm-clouds rumble in the sky and June showers come down. <br />The moist east wind comes marching over the heath to blow its <br />bagpipes among the bamboos. <br />Then crowds of flowers come out of a sudden, from nobody knows <br />where, and dance upon the grass in wild glee. <br />Mother, I really think the flowers go to school underground. <br />They do their lessons with doors shut, and if they want to <br />come out to play before it is time, their master makes them stand <br />in a corner. <br />When the rain come they have their holidays. <br />Branches clash together in the forest, and the leaves rustle <br />in the wild wind, the thunder-clouds clap their giant hands and the <br />flower children rush out in dresses of pink and yellow and white. <br />Do you know, mother, their home is in the sky, where the stars <br />are. <br />Haven't you see how eager they are to get there? Don't you <br />know why they are in such a hurry? <br />Of course, I can guess to whom they raise their arms; they <br />have their mother as I have my own.<br /><br />Sir Rabindranath Tagore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-flower-school-2/
