(Written by 6 y/o me)
Beauty is a rose.
The rose was so powerful
That everyone would stand by it
Every afternoon.
The petals made it beautiful.
It looked like a pinkish-red and was tall.
It grew on a house.
Roses smell beautiful.
All the people would stand by the rose
And praise it.
One afternoon a man came and said,
"Stop praising the rose.
You can just stand by the powerful rose
And draw a picture of the rose only."
So the people would draw it on a piece of paper.
They enjoyed it
Because they can remember the rose.
