Sitting in a meeting

Welsh bloke talking

Time is fleeting

Lilting, yawning,

Been going on since early morning.

Weary, dreary.

Yet far from here

In other places

Boss is stressing

Stamps and paces

Time is fleeting

Heart stops beating

Ambulancing

Blue lights dancing

Not so drear, shouts of “Clear!”

Panic, yelling, screaming, bleating

Time is fleeting

And in the meeting

Someone complains about the heating

Heavy eyes and tepid tempers

Dormant egos attempt a doze

Hollow people, stuck in treacle

Talked out, ear drought

Famine fish in desert

(trout)

Brains have taken such a beating.

Time is fleeting

In the lowest, darkest room

Grey-tiled, antiseptic tomb:

Sticky silence lost.

No beating on the granite bed

No heating here, just cold instead

No meeting for the gathered dead

Time has fled.