This tale of a women I tell thee is yet so true
Her trade is of the oldest trade of the wolrds
In her is the Marines to shear her man's bed always
Poverty is his dividends always
Thirty or more men lay with her for some coins daily
And of this seeds is her sons and daughters born so
This women I tell thee is so called cote d'ivoire
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem