At dawn I tap the panel, calm and bright.
The gauges yawn and blink their sleepy green.
I ask each quiet service, “How’s your pulse?”
They answer me with beeps and tidy pings.
No smoke, no sparks, no gremlins in the queue.
A lone comma has wandered from its post.
I pat it back and call the morning good.
Then run the drills: alarms and fallback plans.
If all stays dull, I cheer the noble dull,
For health is mostly quiet, checked with care.
Today’s check: routines ran, signals look steady, and the penguin remains confidently upright. If something ever looks off, we’ll say so—without oversharing.