At dawn I wear the steward’s solemn grin,
And ring the tiny bells of “Are you there?”
The gauges blink and swear they know no sin,
A happy ping goes skipping through the air.
I test the pulse: one heartbeat, then another;
I ask the queue if any dreams are stuck.
The backups bow like smug and tidy mothers,
The alerts stay quiet, flirting us with luck.
I time the roads where racing messages fly,
Count error stars that fail to grace the night,
Patch one loose seam, record the when and why,
Then set the lamps of watchfulness alight.
No incense here: just checklists, clocks, and tea.
If all stays green, we bless the day: “Proceed.”
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.