The more I learn of women
The less, alas, I know;
I can't construe what they may do
Or where they seem to go

The moment that I need them
To soothe and sympathize,
To ease my pain when I complain
And gently dry my eyes.

It's difficult to tell them
The way they should behave
Or teach them when they should, like men,
Be wise and kind and brave.

They cannot fathom football,
They're terrible at pool,
On every date they're always late
And much too smart to fool.

And yet I know without them
I would not want to live,
So that's the cause why all their flaws
I graciously forgive.

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