Sitting on a pedestal I contemplate and wait
For what seemed to be ten thousand years
Ten thousand years of wrongful debate
On what to do with these four chairs
These four chairs that will seat old friends
But for now they’re waiting, alone, with me
Four old friends that time seemed to offend
As it cruelly drags on for an hour or three
Sitting I speak, moronically, with the air
Of blue conversations in these times of late
A sad, lonely, dreary, drawn out affair
Ten thousand years of wrongful debate.
Spinning and turning and spinning irate
And speaking, moronically, with thin air
Blue conversations and raucous debate
It so annoying that it’s really unfair
What to do with these four chairs
Empty, still, for an hour or three
And blue conversations with thin air
Is just not entertaining enough for me.
Sitting on a pedestal I contemplate and wait
Wait for four chairs to be filled with the late
Late for an hour or three or more at this rate
I’ll definitely give them something to hate.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem