The Intern

Browning carpets Stained cement You’re lending time to those far spent Catering to hands that won’t lift to plows But you tell others they deserve Can’t fall in line with those that won’t give just desserts Assigned here with rumbling bellies They will multiply Disconnect and disruption herein lies You will never return Loving is a burden What did God mean? This is not your purpose Not your good You sign in, check out Count the hours Get the credit And honor Lot’s wife