One fine morning, I walked
In the vicinity of a fenced estate,
Where guards stood stiff and alert
A signpost read in golden type
It’s a “VIP Zone—Do Not Hype”
Inside, seated upon the velvet lawn
A creature grazed from dusk to dawn
No, not mule, not horse, not cow exactly
But a thing… somewhat bureaucratically.
It chewed the grass with a calm delight
Blissfully turning a blind eye
To numerous files stacked left and right
Each blade it nibbled, each speck it cleared
As if the field was leisurely volunteered.
A personal staff approached with polite plea:
Sir, there’s some urgency – File No. 36…
A reminder came for you express clearance
The creature blinked, and just turned away:
Let grass be cleared first, files can wait, okay!
A white-collard man came with charts and plans
And project approved by higher hands
But the bravado just too a royal yawn:
First let me finish lunch… then dine.
By afternoon the lawn was nearly done
And by dusk, not even hope lived on
Yet ironically reports declared with pride
The development grazing is at full stride
It was already a time to call off a day
The guards saluted, loud and long
The dutiful media sang a grazing song.
Now, this onlooker scratches head…
Was this a progress… or well-fed?
So take a lesson from what you view
Not all who graze are mules, it’s true;
Some reprobates graze in broad day light
Driven by sheer power, greed and might
And call it the duty done, all right.
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