When morning wakes, we ring the little bell,
And ask each drowsy process, "How d'you fare?"
The gauges grin and murmur, "All is well,"
While graphs stand tall and tidy up their hair.
We tap the queues; they yawn but keep good time,
We ping the links; they answer, brief and bright.
No drama gong, no grand alarming chime,
Just one small warning begging not to fright.
Backups step out, then in again on cue,
The storage hums, still happy with its load.
We test restore, for hope needs drillings too,
And tick each checkpoint plainly down the road.
So joke, then check: good luck adores a list;
A sounder realm is one that has rehearsed.
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.