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by Peter Fraser © 2007

God gave Women the will and Women the power,
To chat on the telephone, hour after hour.
Each one has beauty, as does a flower,
Maintained by a habit of hogging the shower.

In a world that is dying, unclean and corrupt,
Where hatred and violence continually erupt.
Our Women pour love into life's dry cup,
But God help the Man who leaves the toilet seat up.

Weather a Man is a Preacher, Politician or Stargazer,
Weather he works with his hands, or on the theories of Laser.
Weather his name is Smith, Jones or Fraser,
He'll always have leg stubble stuck in his razor.

In the chill of Winter when darkness unfolds,
The Woman demure becomes sneaky and bold.
The blankets she steals from hubbies sleeping hold,
And when he asks why she says, "I was cold".

When goodies like chocolates are kept in the house,
They disappear slowly, as if from a mouse.
You search for the proof of a chocolate stained blouse,
But you find only smiles from an "innocent" spouse.

Our Ladies of poise and graceful gait,
Have their own idiosyncrasies and personal traits.
For what they'll do next their men watch and wait,
But our love for our Women will never abate.

Enough said. I'm in enough trouble already!!

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Please remember to mention the author of this poem when using.