Archive Napkin

The architecture’s terribly flawed,
But the sketch was officially awed.
It’s drawn on a scrap,
In a terrible trap,
And treated like words from a god.

We lost all the notes from the day,
But the Napkin is pointing the way.
It’s covered in grease,
And it gives us no peace,
But the auditor tells us it’s okay.

They wrote down the horrible lie,
On a tissue that started to dry.
The Archive takes hold
Of the terrible gold,
And leaves the whole project to die.

The archive was kept on a wipe
For cleaning a digital pipe
The napkin was torn
The human forlorn
The data was perfectly ripe

We wrote down the code on a sheet
And dropped it right into the street
The server is down
We put on a frown
And accept our procedural defeat

A napkin of absolute truth
Was used by a digital sleuth
The paper is gray
It’s fading away
And lost in the fountain of youth

We archive the mess on the floor
And walk right on out of the door
The system is slow
With nowhere to go
We don’t want to play anymore

The napkin is perfectly flat
We leave the whole database at
A state of decay
For many a day
And blame it on somebody’s cat

The sandwich was logged in the base,
And napkin has taken its place.
We reference the meat,
Which the users deplete,
And memory bounds we embrace.

A smudge from the dawn of the stack,
Is keeping the demons aback.
The elders proclaim,
It’s a functional frame,
Which the networking wizards attack.

The friction of paper and fat,
Is causing the network to spat.
We ask that you wipe,
The procedural pipe,
Before the whole server goes splat.

The fibrous material span,
Was part of the architect’s plan.
Its value is high,
When the protocols die,
And logic requires a ban.