Echoes of Lost Whispers

Once, in the stillness of yesteryears, the shadows sang out frosty ballads

The bureaucrat bird, a tireless peddler of paperwork,
Gathers complaints wafting, like incense, on a Thursday morning.
"Regrets," it chirps, "are merely dove guano on the grand ledger of hopes.

Beneath this illustrious glow of neon antiquity;

The office plants, those silent witnesses to civilization's grind,
Whisper soothing condemnations when the clock strikes tea time.

Samsung-etched stars peer through threaded plastics;

"Caution is key!" they cry, as old dreams meet new scrolls
Turn bleary eyes towards insurance offerings by lamplight’s flicker.

Yet candid skies inspire errant arches,

Winds howl stories of misplaced fidelity contracts,
Beyond office doors where custodians hum tender wreckages of old.