“All Summer in a Day” (abridged) Ray Bradbury
“All Summer in a Day” by Ray Bradbury, released in 2019, is a poignant #Folk song exploring themes of isolation, longing, and the fleeting nature of joy. The lyrics depict a girl on a rain-drenched planet longing for sunlight, reflecting on childhood innocence and cruelty. Its haunting melody and emotional depth resonate with listeners, highlighting the importance of empathy.
“All Summer in a Day” (abridged text)
By Ray Bradbury
(1)
"Ready?"
"Ready."
"Now?"
"Soon."
"Do the scientists really know? Will it happen today, will it?"
"Look, look; see for yourself!"
The children pressed to each other like so many roses, so many weeds, mixed together, looking out at the hidden sun.
It rained.
It had been raining for seven years; thousands upon thousands of days, months, and years filled from one end to the other with rain, with the sound of water, with the sweet fall of showers and the roar of storms so heavy they were like tidal waves come over the islands. A thousand forests had been crushed under the rain and grown up a thousand times to be crushed again. And this was the way life was forever on the planet Venus, and this was the schoolroom of the children of the rocket men and women who had come to a raining world to set up civilization and live out their lives.
(2)
"It’s stopping, it’s stopping!"
"Yes, yes!"
Margot stood away from them, from these children who could never remember a time when there wasn’t rain and rain and rain. They were all nine years old, and if there had been a day, seven years ago, when the sun came out for an hour and showed its face to the amazed world, they could not recall. Sometimes, at night, she heard them move, in remembrance, and she knew they were dreaming and remembering gold, or a yellow crayon, or a coin large enough to buy the world with. She knew they thought they remembered a warmness, like a blushing in the face, in the body, in the arms and legs and shaking hands. But then they always woke up to the endless sound of the rain upon the roof, the sidewalk, the gardens, the forests, and their dreams were gone.
(3)
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 essays or poems about it:
I think the sun is a flower,
That blooms for just one hour.
That was Margot’s poem, read in a quiet voice in the still classroom while the rain was falling outside.
"Aw, you didn’t write that!" protested one of the boys.
"I did," said Margot. "I did."
"William!" said the teacher.
But that was yesterday. Now the rain was slowing down, and the children were crushed in the great thick windows.
“Where’s teacher?"
"She’ll be back."
"She’d better hurry, we’ll miss it!"
They turned on themselves, moving like a spinning wheel.
By Ray Bradbury
(1)
"Ready?"
"Ready."
"Now?"
"Soon."
"Do the scientists really know? Will it happen today, will it?"
"Look, look; see for yourself!"
The children pressed to each other like so many roses, so many weeds, mixed together, looking out at the hidden sun.
It rained.
It had been raining for seven years; thousands upon thousands of days, months, and years filled from one end to the other with rain, with the sound of water, with the sweet fall of showers and the roar of storms so heavy they were like tidal waves come over the islands. A thousand forests had been crushed under the rain and grown up a thousand times to be crushed again. And this was the way life was forever on the planet Venus, and this was the schoolroom of the children of the rocket men and women who had come to a raining world to set up civilization and live out their lives.
(2)
"It’s stopping, it’s stopping!"
"Yes, yes!"
Margot stood away from them, from these children who could never remember a time when there wasn’t rain and rain and rain. They were all nine years old, and if there had been a day, seven years ago, when the sun came out for an hour and showed its face to the amazed world, they could not recall. Sometimes, at night, she heard them move, in remembrance, and she knew they were dreaming and remembering gold, or a yellow crayon, or a coin large enough to buy the world with. She knew they thought they remembered a warmness, like a blushing in the face, in the body, in the arms and legs and shaking hands. But then they always woke up to the endless sound of the rain upon the roof, the sidewalk, the gardens, the forests, and their dreams were gone.
(3)
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 essays or poems about it:
I think the sun is a flower,
That blooms for just one hour.
That was Margot’s poem, read in a quiet voice in the still classroom while the rain was falling outside.
"Aw, you didn’t write that!" protested one of the boys.
"I did," said Margot. "I did."
"William!" said the teacher.
But that was yesterday. Now the rain was slowing down, and the children were crushed in the great thick windows.
“Where’s teacher?"
"She’ll be back."
"She’d better hurry, we’ll miss it!"
They turned on themselves, moving like a spinning wheel.
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