MATERIAL WORLD

Somehow, it has to be told
Though in a voice not too bold
The truce of woman and man
They are the pulse of men’s plans
He stopped over to tell her
‘Let’s come as one and move on’
Not that he has got a car
But she‘ll in no time be gone
Pretence should be left to drop
It’s not something we can stop
These women can’t really love
Where there is not much to prove
Few young ladies have I met
That opened up without regret
That the taste of a romance
Is determined by finance
 
This truth, somehow, must be said
Even though it’s such that we dread
We all are at their mercy
When we swallow such folly
As they make us to believe
As love from them has no link
To the costly toys and gifts.
 
No poor Dickens should argue
Not that she does not love you
But buying more playthings home
Will hike the love you‘ll be shown.
 
No rich Harry dares to boast
Most girls’ love end at their throat
Once your wealth starts growing wings
Strange songs will they start to sing