Pretty is as pretty does,
her mama used to tell her.
But what a pretty face did most
was to get her into trouble.
They looked at her with smiles all fangs;
she only noticed the sky.
She never looked upon the men
who wished to taste her thigh.
One fine day she walked the streets,
tho' not in the professional sense.
A man approached with soft, warm eyes
to bestow a soulful glance.
...She thought he was a keeper,
and he certainly seemed deeper
than all the creeps - oh jeepers! -
hard on course to grab and 'sleep' her...
Yes, pretty is as pretty does
her wise mama used to say;
but she wishes she'd been plainer
if it meant her man weren't gay!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem