There are three benches across the hall
Solid and brown, and crafted of wood
They sit with patience, stoic and all
Ready for whatever should come their way
I must wonder about those little benches
Their simple structure so obviously good
But I see splinters and all sorts of pinches
Discomfort from hardness, refusing to sway
Cushions are missing from the seats of these items
I find myself more comfortable stood
A small bit of padding could easily right them
And make those bare benches a nice pleasant stay.
You gotta pick the right guy to do the job.
Perhaps you never heard of me; I'm famous for my obscurity.
Go out now and vote for LibertyBob.