Respectable men, you will no doubt recall,
Have got a bad habit of knowing it all.
They never squat down on the floor on their haunches,
But slump in armchairs behind burgeoning paunches.
They suck cigarettes through a thick, yellow haze,
Sleep badly at night and feel dead through their days.
They constantly harp about high income-tax,
What neighbours are thinking and pains in their backs.
He-men, however, are different to this,
They live out their lives in absolute bliss.
They gamble their wages and laugh when they lose,
They never wear vests or dropp into a snooze.
They battle through hurricanes, earthquakes and fire,
With boxes of chocolates for girls they admire.
They rarely stay long at one proper address,
Or suffer from piles, apoplexy or stress.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very well thought out and put together, I enjoyed it. I'm hoping there may be a happy medium!