Why is it that man looks great
even with a bald pate?
And a woman’s crowning glory
usually has an early date
to turn out unruly and thin?
She looks at the man and thinks to herself,
“I know I just can’t win.”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It's not so bad Edwina. Take a look at my poem, 'Hair Today - Gone Tomorrow'