While waiting for Bill and Sam, I wrote a bit more poetry. I scrapped that grotty one about daffodils. Well, you can't smoke them or anything can you?...ittle Lamb who made youDo you know who made you?Gave you life and got you shornBy the stream and over the lawn;Gave you numbers on your coat, Twenty Six is what they wrote;Gave you such a groovy voiceMaking all the grass rejoice!Little Lamb who made youDo you know who made you?However, this poem sounds really feeble now the sheep have moved off. Knowing the answer Iraised my hand."What is the answer, Steven?"Most of the girls in the class giggled.I started to speak, but I was embarrassed that she was using my boy'sname."What's so funny?" Mrs. Milano asked."Her name is Sophia," Amy told her."Do you want to be called Sophia?" Yes, Mrs. Milano." Sophia, what is the answer?"I gave it to her and she told me it was correct.Later, when we were all reading, she asked me to come and talk to her, "Ihave no problem with what you are doing, but. More

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