For What Lies Hidden

A collection of all my poetry in an order I think makes reading it even more fun and exciting.


84. Furniture

Strong and solid,

Wooden through and through,

Doesn't exactly look horrid

But it could do with some paint and glue.


Dinner plates on top,

Never a more careful label

Than after the weekly shop,

That I am only a table.


Each day I whisper to another

Of the heavy man who sits on me,

And I can't forget his brother

Who feels as if he's forty.


Beside the table I sit

And I don't move a hair,

Sometime I wish I didn't care a bit

But I'm only a mute chair.


Sitting on the table

A huge pile of books,

Not very stable

At least, that's how it looks.


All these things are types of furniture,

Materials through and through.

Nothing we can do to nurture,

Just use them four times plus two.

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