O Whiteboard! My Whiteboard!

O Whiteboard! My Whiteboard!

Dusty and forlorn,

Left in the empty conference room,

Where ideas once were born.

?

The markers' bright promises,

Once danced across your face,

With remote work the new normal,

You’re left behind, in a forgotten place.

?

Your gleaming white has dulled to gray,

A canvas lost to time,

Each smudge a silent testament,

To meetings of code and design.

?

O Whiteboard! My Whiteboard!

Where visions used to play,

Your surface holds the echoes,

Of discussions long away.

?

The eraser’s touch no longer sweeps,

The symbols, bold and grand,

You bear the scars of permanent ink,

Stubborn and unmanned.

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O Whiteboard! My Whiteboard!

In corridors so still,

Your patina frame, a hollowed place,

A witness to the will.

?

Yet in your dusty quiet,

A truth remains unsaid,

You hold the dreams and fervor,

Of the ideas that once were spread.

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O Whiteboard! My Whiteboard!

Though left to time's embrace,

Your story lingers gently,

In your silent, faded grace.