A woman is made from the rib of a man
Yet she wants to do the chores of a man
She seems to forget she is only a rib
Easier to break than a pencil's nib
Yet she wails and asks for her right
Thinking she has all the might
It takes to do the chores of her mate
Maybe she does only time will tell
Yet for now it is better she waits
And save her strength for another day
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem