A Poem

One of the kid's assignments in school last week was to write a poem. I can only assume based on the result that it was a similar exercise to what we did when I was doing teaching trips in grad school. Be that as it may, I'm pretty proud of what she came up with:

Red is the taste of apples being picked,
Rassberry juice squirting in your mouth,
Ripe tomatos on the plant waiting to be picked,
The fragrance of roses in a vase on a table.
Red is yarn being played with,
Bean bags being sat on by children
and flowers in the sun.
The scent of cranberry juice in a bottle.

Not bad for a seven-year old.