This poem gently protests the propensity of some managers to over-manage. It could apply to (chat) groups anywhere.

There once was a field, an open space,
Airy and nice in the moon’s good grace,
And there a group of cats would gather,
And talk each other into a lather.

Some would screech and others yowl,
Some around the fringes would prowl,
A few did most of the caterwauling,
A few more sat around cat calling.
Many shed light on what they know,
Most turned out to enjoy the show.

And then there came the awful threat,
That set them all in a nervous sweat.
Beloved field to be taken away,
So none again could enjoy the fray.

But along came a cat in a tall hat,
Said that was not the end of that.
He’d secure the field, make it good,
And all could chat like real cats should.
His tall hat was extremely white,
And great his talk of wrong and right.

But soon the new cat started making rules,
That cast some cats as feline fools.
Though they knew that regs are needed,
Some felt free yowling was being defeated.

The field would be divided at first in two,
In one, mewling cats, the fat could chew,
The yowlingest cats in field two would spat,
Out of hearing as they chewed the fat.
And both fields would in rope be rimmed,
To teach all cats their scope was trimmed.

But soon, field two cats were ushered back,
Except those tendering too much flack.
And field one cats ordered one by one,
To come on out and have some fun.

But with micro-management the only game ,
To the cats, their field just wasn’t the same,
Expected more categories, unknown number
To limit options, their discourse encumber.
They broke and ran to escape their lot,
Thus tearing asunder tall hat’s plot.

So as this situation we contemplate,
With a bit of satisfaction we relate:
There’s a better course for tall white hats,
Than pushing ropes and herding cats!