The empty chair I remember each night before bed,
Memories of a sigh and a stare as I tilt my head,
Not really sure the action I'm expected to choose,
And still I open my mouth and whisper I love you.
I remember now; like; I remember then,
Only stories I hear tell me that chair held a man,
Asleep; for soo long; so, tired of life,
I know now the one I called mom; he called wife.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.