- The Washington Times - Saturday, July 19, 2008

By Miranda Smith, age 13

While watching tears stream down your face

I start to feel the sorrow; the pain

The soulless whimper of your cry

The deep sincerity of your eye

I remember the days when we’d lied

Down next to one another

Watching the sun fall and then recover

And all the fireflies dancing with glee

Filled with love of being free

Just like the prince you are to me

Happiness and a joyful year

Whisked away by one so dear

Whether or not you feel it to

I will always be here for you

So what name do you give love?

Is it hers or is it mine?

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