For a moment, very much  like the one between lightning and its sound,  the children just stare at me, and then it comes, a flurry,  a hail storm of answers – Flower, says one. No, Book, says another.  That's stupid, cries a third, the opposite of a  gun is a pillow. Or maybe a hug, but not a book,  no way is it a book. With this, the others gather their thoughts and suddenly it’s a shouting match.  No one can agree, for every student there’s a final answer.  It's a song, a prayer, I mean a promise,  like a wedding ring, and later a baby. Or what’s that  person who delivers babies?