Bed of Roses
When I was a young boy of seven, I thought that school was a bed of roses. I love to talk, and in junior school I had lost of friend I talked to all day long. Our teacher would tell us about the stone age and about dinosaurs and my friends would talk about them while we painted pictures. When I went to senior I was eleven years old. The first day I was in the nevous, so I talked to all new people in my class. The teacher stopped talking and looked at me. She said “ you can’t talk in class. I want you to come to me after school for one hour as punishment for your bad behavior “ I started to complain, but she interrupted me, and said “ you can’t always do what you want. Life’s not always a bed of roses. I’ll see you after school.” From that moment I knew that my teacher was right. Life doesn’t always it’s not always a bed of roses.