The hierarchy meets once or twice a year here,
Their bundles and their papers underarm.
Some come hearty, some come sure,
Some come striding through the door,
Genuflecting, radiating charm.
Some come mincing in like whores,
Some come wary, (some have cause),
And some send their regrets to keep from harm.
The price of compromise is somewhat dear here;
Here is where ambition slips its sheath.
Some are cunning, some are wise,
Some are here to patronise,
Some sit grinning, lying through their teeth.
Some are crawling sycophants,
Some mere courtiers at the dance,
Some carrying bouquets — and some a wreath.
“Is there any other business we must clear here?”
A rush of voices babble juxtaposed.
Some still yet to make their marks,
Some still circling like sharks,
Claiming points of order unopposed.
Some still seeking an alliance,
Some still whining in defiance...
“In that case, I declare this meeting closed.”
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