None abacus nor ancient text can cipher nor explain
the total worth or particle of the consummate of man’s name.
The woe of man is loneliness; no wealth of gold can ease
none but the smile of woman the heart of man can please.
What is the worth of flowers in spring, the warmth of summer rain?
Could man contend with darkness, could he at all withstand the pain?
Could passion’s kiss or cleavage bare by gold alone be matched?
Could man’s desires be satisfied by an earthly treasure cache?
To feel the warmth of humbled arms and yielded body quaking
could ner’e compare with treasures cold and lifeless stones forsaking.
Does gold have heart to tell a man of his bravery and prowess;
to feed the ego that gives him strength to battle for success?
Nay! But gold makes fat and useless the character of man
and rots a hole where once was soul where God and woman stand.
A woman’s worth could ner’e be told for the wisest of man attempted
but failure gripped king Solomon, no answer for question tendered.
She has no equal from birth to death, for man she is his crown
to treasure more than life itself, to God and man be bound.
The worth of any treasure is its significance to man,
my woman is my treasure as heart to heart we stand.
George Wootton
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-woman-s-worth/
