Office Work Poem by Rowan Truebody
Office Work
Small minded people, with minds filled with mush
They whinge and they moan, about nothing so much
At the things that don’t matter, don’t matter a jot
They talk and they talk, saying nothing, not a lot
Then they panic and shout, “my time’s running out”
It’s never their fault, the guilt is not theirs
But the longer the speech, the louder the shout
The smaller the amount of work put out….
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/23/2024 9:01:22 AM # 1.0.0.1119
