The Red Rose The red rose grows, and puts a scent to the nose. You water it with a hose, So it will smell like a real rose. A bee flies atop, to look at a hawk. The hawk is sly, It makes the rose cry. But the hawk flies away, Only leaving a silent hush... among the brush. The rose is safe now. By Katy Kunkle, age 10, Choctaw, Oklahoma--1999