"What?" Rosie said, looking totally confused.
"Who stood outside my door. He thought he'd like to come in and play about the floor. He thought he'd like to warm himself by the firelight so red, he thought he'd like to climb on the big white bed. So he called to the Northwind,"Help me now, I pray. I'm completly frozen standing here all day.' So the Northwind came along, and blew him in the door, but now there's nothing left of him but a puddle on the floor."
The five cadets looked at each other. What a poem.
"So what did you learn from this?" Davenport asked, looking anywhere except in the cadet's direction.
"It was...uh, interesting," Radu said.
"I still do not know what a snowman is," Rosie said.
"There's no point to this!" Harlan said.
"It was a sappy poem," Suzee said.
Bova said nothing. He was still trying to figure out what the poem had meant.
"What about you, Bova?" Davenport asked him. "What did you learn?"
"Ask me later," Bova said.
"Think about that. There is a lesson here to learn. To you, Suzee, it might be just a 'sappy' poem, but you can learn from poems."
"Wait," Harlan said. "Is this a philosophy class?"
Davenport didn't answer. She was busy looking at the door.
Suzee took note of this and asked,"Can we go now?"
At first, Davenport didn't hear her. Then she looked over and said,"You are dismissed."
"Short class!" Goddard said, entering. "What's going on? No homework?"
"She can't give us homework!" Harlan said, almost yelling. "One, we're busy in the compost, and, two, we're not going home tonight."
"True, true," Goddard said. He turned around to see Davenport wasn't even in the classroom anymore.
"Odd," Goddard said. "Ok, back to the compost- uh, command post now. Get a move on."
Four of the five cadets ran sheepishly out of the classroom. Bova lagged.
"Mr. Bova? What's wrong?"
"I can't figure out Miss Davenport's poem's meaning," he said.
"What poem?"
"The one about the snowman."
Oh, gee, that helps, Goddard thought. "I'm sure she'll tell you tomorrow."
"Probably," Bova said, and left.
Goddard shrugged and followed him.
Bova pretty much sleepwalked through the rest of the day. Fortunately, nothing serious happened that required him to do anything constructive.
That night, Bova had the strangest dream....
"Miss Davenport! I've finished all my work! I'm going to helm!"
"No problem, Bova!" Davenport shouted at him. "Ever since you've figured out my poem, the others are so jealous!"
"Let them suffer!" Bova cried. "I'm the smart one! Not Suzee, not Radu, not Rosie. ME!"
He walked into the command post. As soon as they saw him, Thelma and Goddard started applauding and bowing.
"Bova, the helm is all yours!" Goddard shouted.
"Hail King Bova! Hail King Bova!" Thelma chanted.
Bova grinned and took the helm.
"Oh, Bova," Goddard said, "What would we do without you?"
"Sleep?" Bova asked, and Thelma and Goddard started laughing.
"You’re a comedian, too!" Goddard said, still laughing.
Bova was so confused. He had never got this kind of attention before. Something like only in a dream.
But it didn’t stop there.
"Have you figured out the meaning yet?" Davenport asked.
"No," Harlan said.
"I thought I did," Suzee said, "But thinking about it, it was probably wrong."
"Well once you figure it out it’ll be easy, right Rosie?"
"Sure. I guess so."
Bova never said a word. But he’d figure it out if it killed him.
Well, not if it killed him….
