When you say that the day is going by slowly and that you are bored,
You are hoping that what comes next,
The night,
And the next day,
Will be full of some renown which exists in the back of your mind as an ideal,
But is actually the opposite of this life in which you’re immersed,
With the owls perched slowly,
One atop the tree and one below it,
Sneering like they talked to those other people,
Or something like that.