Pink

pink potentilla beauty

 

Pink are her cheeks, in an August-moon glow,

Pink is the blush of her maidenly smile;

Daintily stepping, her pretty pink feet

Carry her many a pretty pink mile.

Sunset paints rainbows on eventide’s brow,

Staining her world in cathedral-pink hue;

Pink are the thoughts which she ponders the while

As powder-pink clouds wash her hair with pink dew.

The Value of You

You’re no pin-up, that’s for sure.  Too pale, for one thing.

No uniformity.  A bit of an odd-ball shade, too.

The sun will wash you out within hours.

That fold is a bit non-conformist.

How will you compete with

Air-brushed standards?

How will you set

The value of

You?