Of all the words of tongue and pen,
Of all the woes of mice and men,
The saddest of these are miles and miles
Of ever-present paper piles.
The gathering storm of humankind
Lies not in sin nor pain of mind
But can be viewed on any desk,
The peace of any day to wreck.
They sit on desks, they sit on chairs
Multiplying unawares,
Till the faint-hearted sort them into files
To multiply again into file-piles.
"Get thee behind me" is a useless plea--
They're here to torment me and thee,
Until at last the day comes when
In Paper Pile Heaven they'll be born again.
By Linda McDonald Hite 2010 copyright
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