Pink is Nice

Pink is what the little boys with their colorful parasols
Feel as they brush against the rose's hand,
Pink is what the little girl tasted, with her spoon
Pushed against the soft and mushy cereal in her bowl,
Pink is what the old man saw, in the clutters of shades of red
Mashed by a painter with douses of white,
Pink is what the reader heard, among the dozens of sounds
That rush from the buzzing television set,
And pink is what the couple smelled, in the fresh,
Warm embracing hands of gentle love.