The rose.

A rose has budded like my heart.
i smell the rose i hear my heart beating,
beating, pounding.

I hear the bird sing its song,
like an arrow passing by.

the rose has died and so have i.
now keep my words in your mind
for heed my words for i do not lie.

This came from an e-zine publlished by a 15 year old and was submitted by another teenager. This maybe only because I am only 15 years of age myself, but i think in many cases younger aurthors are much more creative and free. This may be due to the fact that younger authors are less effected by that horible thing we call society.