There is a table with five chairs.
It’s always stood in the center of the room.

Connections made by meals,
A place where a wood maker envisioned happy gatherings and Sunday brunches.

So he carved 5 thoughtful chairs,
Each with a different occupant who sits in their own chair every time.
I bet the wood maker imagined orange juice being poured upon that table, and people tapping their fingernails against the side of their wooden seat.

His envisions came to life, for there was once a time where a mass of a family gathered there each night,
With a dog licking up scraps.

The tragedy is that his dream has died now.
The lit conversations have blown out,
Just like the candles that still remain set there each night in desperation to restore the old times with remembrance.

Don’t worry wood maker,
Your 5 chairs and table still indeed remain,
But only three remain occupied.
Your chairs didn’t do well enough for the others not to desire a new table.