Made for nothing else, and left to sit
Among the others, all of which are able
With just a board (which, we must all admit
Usually comes with pieces) to replace
Its only purpose. What must it be like
To be that table fastened into place,
Listening to every open mic
And oh so rarely getting to express
Its only manufactured purpose? Then
Oh joy of heaven, tablekind to bless,
Two people sit, women, children, men
And play. How must it feel? Who knows?
The table simply thinks that's how it goes.
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