And if to go deep into,
We are not less than anyone else.
Like the feudal lord, let me lie in
With my legs on the table,
I lying on the sofa,
You sitting before and I in my reclining state.
In the meantime, tea comes in
And the poet stands up as for the tea-break,
Keeps sipping
And chatting about poetry.
Let me smoke a cigar and think of,
I want to be Eliot, Auden, Spender,
You just arrange the table for the conference
To be held.
I smoking a cigar and thinking,
Ashes shaken into the ash-tray,
The burnign cigar held in between the fingers
And I thinking of becoming Eliot, Auden, Spender.
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