Smuddle Poem by Zyw Zywa

We make the best of it, now and then
we just laugh at the boss with a bit of zen

In discussions, we camouflage our protest
any unwanted things we keep suppressed

When sometimes someone silently mutters
one of us will simply close the shutters

The figures of the old year are tiny
far too small and way too heavy

for the estimated castles in the air
yet the management is playing there

So we're smuddling about, aren't we?
on polished shoes as they should be