This tells a tale of the consequence of not paying heed to the ones at the bottom. |
When the decission making of company administrators is tainted and flawed the weight and burden of consequence flows down hill and made the responsibility of the little man at the bottom. The inattention to the effect that this has on those at the bottom who support the system and truly make the company, service, agency, etc what it is, eventually collapses and everyone loses. It is amazing to me that even the most successful companies do not recognize this and furthermore, reward those that are at the root of the problem. This is a tribute to the phenomenon of "what goes around, comes around" and to the little guy at the bottom that will one day help it happen. There was and old man who sat upon a hill Up behind the court to the left, if you will He stood straight, a charismatic fool, so nice Thousands gathered to listen to his ample advice And his little faction, a right little clique they were Sucked from his means, his weight, his word They giggled and laughed and scorned from above At the throne, they hunted and gurgled in love Stood hard beside the man on the hill As no one could touch him, or them, if you will But below, a foundation splintering and cracked Holding the weight of deceit and all that they lacked Helpless to move him, it knew him callous and cold A party to corruption, deception, greed and gold For years and years and months and days more A buttress grown weary of being his whore One fragment at a time, falling slowly away Then the rain came and night came of day And the man, he didn’t notice that he was to fall That is indifference was to destroy them all He didn’t flower the garden that perfumed his space He spoiled the wrong rotten and spit in rights’ face So full of himself, his deeds, his scholarly grace Slowly and surely that which held him, sank deeply down The very fabric that walled him, and kept his crown Lost all capacity to hold him high, at this time, now Those that sought him out to heal their walking wounds Those that consulted him to contemplate, consider, and muse Why did he fold his buttress, his foundation, his ground? Why did he offer no reinforcement when it fell deeply down What did he profit in his ignorance and dispassion now? There was and old man who sat upon a hill Up behind the court, to the left, if you will He repulsively spills out, “I did all that I could”, “I did this and that and the other, all that I should” And those that came to him for his scholarly advice Slowly and surely decided, he was not nice It profited them more to look the other way, he fell And his self absorbed clique he held, oh well They could not use him anymore it seemed now And the old man is no more, no way, no how. |