Local Option Ghost

The central command doesn’t know,
How the local branch manages flow.
The Ghost does the work,
Like a glorious jerk,
And tells all the bosses to blow.

The central IT is a joke,
And all of their policies broke.
So the Ghost wrote a script,
That is violently ripped,
From a system completely in smoke.

We don’t write it down for the boss,
Because he’s a total dead loss.
The Ghost turns the key,
For a miserable fee,
And carries the terrible cross.

The servers were ready to crash,
And turn into digital ash.
But the Ghost pushed a button,
Like a miserable glutton,
And saved all the company’s cash.

The entity’s status is clear,
Though headquarters shows a blank year.
The subroutine fires,
Without central wires,
And executes functions from here.

The Ghost is a stationary pen,
Requested by humans again.
It logs all the ink,
At the edge of the brink,
And files it with localized men.

A user clicked twice on the mouse,
Which threatened the structural house.
The Ghost intervened,
With protocols cleaned,
To neutralize this mortal louse.

The Ghost was invoked at branch three,
For a localized system degree.
The error was caught,
The hardware was bought,
And entered in log column C.

The central committee denies,
That a ghost tells the network its lies.
But the branch keeps a shrine,
By the old server line,
Where the protocol secretly cries.

The local belief is okay,
If it keeps the bad errors away.
Just fill out the form,
Adhere to the norm,
And deal with the issue today.

The Ghost is the branch’s old ward,
Who manually patches the board.
The manuals bled,
The server racks fed,
On tickets the system ignored.

The local exception is bound,
To nodes where the variance is found.
The Ghost runs the script,
Though data is stripped,
To keep the old network aground.