Once upon a staff call dreary
While I pondered, weak and weary
Upon many issues rediscussed
Which had been resolved of yore

While I sat there, nearly napping
Suddenly there came some clapping
Like the sound of sea waves lapping
Or echo of the Ocean’s roar

“Tis the ending of this meeting,
That for which I’ve so longed for!”
But twas just the third of thirty briefers
Sitting down, and nothing more

Onward, ever on we labored
Like swimmers towards some distant shore
Every time we thought we’d progressed
The tide would take us out, once more

Like the Red Queen, ever sprinting,
No matter how quickly on we bore
At the end of all our struggle
No more finished, than before

Can this tedium be unending?
Must this time be such a bore?
Is my sentence so unbending,
That I am not allowed to snore?

Like the air to one a-drowning
When the end at last was sure
I grabbed my coat, and quickly gowning
Rushing headlong out the door

But my freedom so sweet tasting
Is but the fleeting joy Du Jour
For the bitter truth ‘oerhangs me
I’ll be back next week, for more