Nicked from another forum.
As silent as a flouncing lurker, dust
descends all while a dough-faced chairman dreams
beside a silent fax machine, long bust,
while far away a head-locked exec screams.
He dreams of all the good times he has wrought;
of tear-filled 'phone calls, yielding at the last;
the ancient crocks and never-beens he’s bought,
the Vicks and Deep Heat fumes of deadlines past.
He stirs to wipe a tear before it burns
the fax rolls nestled ‘neath his tousled dome,
and dreaming, soils himself as Ross returns –
a squirt of joy for bringing a Blue home.
And sure as dawn – no if, no and, no but –
another transfer window slammeth shut…