Here's a toast to the lassies,
to the ones we adore,
to the beautiful creatures,
whose love we implore;
A toast to the women,
to the ones we admire,
whatever they do,
in almost any attire.
For they always are pretty,
and they always are pure,
should you disagree once
you'll regret it for sure;
Ogling luscious lassies
I would do as long as I could,
but there is more than meets the eye,
let this be understood;
The soft sweet voice of woman
is ever so good,
as the song of a bird
perched high on wood;
Though the voice that so pleases
may also easily shatter,
once a nice lovely lass
starts to go forth and chatter;
Now the wonder of birth
is theirs alone to delight,
caring for the whims of the expectant,
that, for sure, is man's plight;
Alas, the most precious gift
that a woman may grant
is her soft tender touch
which is always so scant!
The treasured touch of a lady,
I always like to endure,
even given in rage,
a lover's touch still is a cure;
'Cause there is one more catch,
that here I cannot withhold,
for the most delicate female,
once may grow bold.
Alone, my fellow men,
do not despair,
for the sight of a fierce woman,
still is quite fair!
Lads, let us praise our lassies,
and let us please them now well,
for laughter and love,
easily any rage can quell.
Man know thy woman,
'this is all I can say,
be happy and merry...
Ah, well, I get carried away...
written by Steffen Jost at the 25th January 2006 for a nice Burns Supper with good friends in Scotland.
A nice verse, that somehow did not fit in in the end:
Men's mathematical
logic
took years to be found,
but the logic of
woman,
while coming easy, is barely sound;