Tuesday, 28 August 2012


(25 April 2004)

I have no chair in which to rest,
No place that I can call my own.
But one day hope to find a place,
A place that I can call a home.

Ah, a home, what could that be?
A thing not known for many a year.
But come it will and with it bills,
Which, alas, fills me with fear.

But what of now, and what of chairs,
The original topic of this piece?
I’m lying on my “chair” right now,
Like a prisoner waiting for release.

A bed for a chair must now suffice
Although best intended for sleep.
A chair would stop an aching back,
And help a better posture keep.

When the time comes for me to choose,
A sofa I’d buy instead of chair.
That extra space to lounge and lie,
And space for visitors to share.

A sofa means welcome, does not reject,
It’s arms outstretched and affable.
And even when singly used you sense,
That potential of sharing is palpable.

A single chair, on the other hand,
Permits one sitter in restraint.
Except for lovers, on each other sitting,
Two sharing a chair would cause complaint.

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