Straight-backed chairs, standing around expectantly in a
doctor's waiting area.
Looking as if they will get up and dance freely about the
room, legs askance, posed for rhythms soon to be played.
Watching expectantly, they do nothing, but sit there right
where they always are, because even my imagination isn't
strong enough to make them move and dance around the room.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem