Stub: Trust Surface Retained Under Inherited Conditions

A surface we trusted of yore,
Had lost all the proof at its core.
But taking it down,
Would earn us a frown,
So we stamped it and left it on tour.

The ledger had nothing to show,
The basis had crumbled below.
Yet habit remained,
And paperwork gained,
A permanence no one could know.

A signature drawn in the dust,
Continued to carry our trust.
It wasn’t quite true,
But changing the view,
Would cause an administrative bust.

We thought we should clear out the tray,
And throw the old records away.
But changing the sheet,
Made everyone bleat,
So the faded old stamp gets to stay.

The archive relies on a ghost,
A form that we honor the most.
It’s easier far,
To leave things as are,
Than question the clerk at the post.