Annex Truth

The truth was too costly to front,
So the appendix bore all the brunt.
It was accurate there,
In subordinate air,
Where a reader would have to go hunt.

The tooltip admitted the thing
That the banner refused it could bring.
So the page looked serene,
While the hover between
Did the dangerous work of witnessing.

The margin was granted the pain,
For the headline had posture to maintain.
Thus the record stayed calm,
With a small truthful qualm
Filed somewhere the calm could explain.

The engine requires a stamp,
To properly organize damp.
The pistons align,
With folders of twine,
And power the principal lamp.

The ancients had left us a sign,
A tooltip embedded in line.
Though the dashboard is bright,
It’s the hover at night
Where the spirits of logic decline.

The headline is properly cleared,
While the facts have politely disappeared.
In the secondary text,
The reviewer is vexed,
But the optic is fully adhered.

The shipment of truth has arrived,
In a footnote we neatly contrived.
Since the engine is loud,
And the margin is proud,
The vehicle somehow survived.

The tooltip is clearly a wheel,
That helps the directory heal.
If the truth is inside,
Then the margin will ride,
To deliver a sensible meal.

The annex is properly grown,
With seeds that the dashboard has sown.
The account is supreme,
In the dairy and cream,
And the truth is a registered bone.

The margins are moving too fast,
For the headline’s respectable mast.
We will tether the truth,
To a telephone booth,
And ensure that the physics will last.

The witness is clearly a bird,
That the primary document heard.
It will nest in the file,
With a statutory smile,
And validate every third word.