No memories of wives,
Of past, no alimonies
To be paid, no extra children,
To be bothered about,
Praise the lord, for
Marrying only once,
and making my stick
To me, sometimes
Not so faithful, yet getting
All the words rotten
From my darling wife.
While it is like that for some
Why is not so, that
The mating pleasure
Restricted to weddings
By faith, must be extended
To all sorts of imaginations,
To mothers, fathers, sons,
Neices, Nephews and sisters,
Since is it not man made
For their own faithful thinking.
Which happens but rarely.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
no body wishes to committ the same mistake twice over...'maaried only once, praise the lord! '