May I ever be pink,
my heart’s hidden petticoats
tender and always-fresh.

May I ever find that place
hidden but accessible,
there in Mama’s Heart-Springs

where I can wash
in crimson founts crystal
clear and sweetly astringent.

Others might love green
still others regally wreathed
in Autumn’s Golden Gleam,

but it is pink for me,
pink always, tender,
present and near

May I ever be pink,
dwelling soft and
without fear.