A woman long suspected her husband.
Then she caught him
in his act of promiscuity.
The husband wailed,
but the woman spoke nothing.
From her own treasury,
a fine meal she made,
a silk dress she bought.
She laid down like a cat would,
and when he'd finished the meal,
she walked up to him,
her silk dress dragging,
wiping the floor of the remains.
Her hands were clutched behind—
behind the silk dress, an anvil hid.
And when she closed in on him,
she grinned—
'Wham! ! '
And the rest was history.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A practical anatomy of a man who heeds not the eventual warning.