The Pink lady they call her. . .

She waits there by the corner,
Waiting for someone to adorn her. . .
A hand to pick her,
A tongue to lick her. . .

The touch of a hand, she waits,
Uses her body, she baits. . .
Sit elegantly, unmoving,
While they watch her, all drooling

One can see, she's labelled often. . .
Sum unlabel her, sum jus won't
Most get a taste of her. . .
Many like her, very few don't

Many a time, they don't realize,
They leave behind seeds. . .
Sum are discarded young,
While others grow into mere weeds

Very few escape the web,
The misfortune, the deceit. . .
But the Pink Lady, they love her,
Subtle, sweet, discreet. . .