This is a really sad poem. It's about a little girl growing up. She doesn't want to face the real world.

The little girl,

sings and dances.

Then she picks up a flower,

in her hand.

She plucks the petals,

falling down, red.

She doesn't know it drips.

The blood just stained,

before her trip.

To the river far below.

While she ignores her mothers calls,

and finds her hand stained with its tips.

The red rose has bled,

she sits.

With the crimson on her hands,

she stops to think,

that one day she'll see,

of the child she will cease to be.