In a factory, wide and grand, Stood Magna, tall, upon the land.

A giant in automotive arts, With robots, gears, and clever parts.

But oh, the tales that walls could tell, Of shady deeds not going well.

In boardrooms dim, where plans were made, The rules, it seems, were oft betrayed.

“Fraudulent!” the whispers said, As Magna’s rep began to shed.

A dance of numbers, sly and slick, Made regulators feel quite sick.

Poor management, the modern bane, Turned corporate halls to halls of pain.

Where once stood Klause, size thirteen, A giant in the auto scene.

But then came Darren, feet size nine, Whose smaller shoes did not align.

With Klause’s giant, lasting stride, Magna’s path began to slide.

“Where’s the honor? Where’s the skill?” Cried workers from their window sill.

“Bring back the days of honest work, Not these new tricks that in shadows lurk!”

So here we stand, a tale in tow, Of a giant, brought down low.

In the world of cars and gears, Magna’s legacy now in arrears.

A poem, funny, yet quite stark, On a company that missed its mark.

For in the world of business vast, It’s honesty that truly lasts. Now exuse me

Magna and kiss my ass.