Women are such fickle things.
They wear their heart on their sleeve.
But treat them with too cruel a word
and watch how quick they’ll leave.
They say one thing and think another
and find no fault in this.
But love them to death on everyday
and they’ll be satisfied with a kiss.
But in my estimation I think it is true
that men are more fickle a sex.
They love ‘em and leave ‘em when they choose.
And leave women emotional wrecks.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem