(A thought for the girl draped all
over in the blushing colour)
Oh, you pretty
pink lady!
You wear
colours that dazzle
They`re
uniform but disparate
They adorn
you from top to bottom
Piece by
piece, they tell a story
Where did it
all begin?
And where
will it end?
What if all
our bees start feeling dizzy
Because the
nectar in their beaks is a drizzle?
What if the
pope`s sauntering butterflies charge a rate?
What then
shall you do with the pink Tomtom?
Is all this
flourishing pinkness in you not just a mystery?
Or what is
the layman to think is its origin?
So, in the
end, shall you bend or mend?
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