In summer they don't cool us down:
In winter they don't warm.
Their usefulness has no renown,
As always was the norm.
The single thing they do is spin
About, and soak up sound,
While dangling their pull-cords in
One's face, as they go 'round.
They're only there to ornament
A ceiling-full of pipes,
And give employees here a vent
For all their varied gripes.
But we will bid farewell to these
When we depart from Green:
To air our peeves we'll have to seize
On something else, I ween.
Originally published in SUL News Notes, February 19, 1993.
c 1993, 1995 Fleabonnet Press for the author.