If we want to live for one hundred year,

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If we want to live for one hundred year,
We enjoy just eighteen hundred days,
Half we spend in sleeping half with tear,
Half in flattery and half in others’ praise
So we are fools and call us wise man,
What is this nothing but our thinking fault,
We think beyond heaven and fall in den.
Where none to save us and none to halt
Think home quarrels why occur in youth,
A woman’s blunder or man’s rash nature,
When foolish hangs on the neck smooth,
That is the ugliest our thinking signature

What in a woman is a surging life force
You'll find it true if you read all lores