In Which the Fair Maid Allison is Burdened with a Heinous Task

(in rhymed quatrains of iambic pentameter)

And lo, the fair maid Allison, did toil
At foot of paper mountains high and wide
And all through land of Hummers and of Saabs,
The service techs could hear her baleful cries.

"Why?" she sobbed, "As paper mountains grew,
did not the perpetrator of this loathsome mess
begin to undertake to remedy
his deeds so that my filing might be less??"

But ne'er did any speak the traitor's name
Nor deem to pity Allie in her plight.
And though she filed all throughout the day,
Her toils lasted well into the night.

"Have mercy!" our fair maiden did protest
"And someone free me from my paper chains!"
Yet still our heroine was made to toil
Although her strength had long begun to wane.

At length the managers and salesmen too
Did venture forth to check on Allison
But our fair maiden's trials now were through.
Her suffering from files at last was done.

They found her lying prone amidst the piles
Of VIN numbers and service tickets there.
Her face and hands were scarred by cuts of paper,
And there were bits of paper in her hair.

Poor Allison had fled this mortal coil
Instead of being shackled to the piles,
And though no one believed it could be true,
she proved one can be killed by endless files.