A smug poet in a sweater,
holding carefully marked books,
reads his poems quite slowly
and adds animated looks.

While white haired old ladies
and sophisticated old men,
sit in hard metal chairs
and listen intently to him.

There at the podium
he must feel like a god,
but his voice like a metronome
seems unnatural and odd.

Outside the large windows,
colorful flowers are in bloom,
and birds can be heard singing,
but it's all for naught in the room.