O Muse of home, of halls and hearth and light,
Come sing the woes of sensors, screens, and wires,
Where modern might, in folly, oft doth fight
The silent war of systems, linked and tires.
The house did cry with twelve and ninety signs,
Each one a whisper through the digital air,
From Janne’s lost cream to ICMP’s unkind signs,
And warnings loud that echoed through the lair.
The doors refused to speak, the lights would fail,
The car’s charge slept, the sensors grew unkind,
The camera’s eye was blind, the server pale,
And space on macOS grew both low and blind.
Yet still the house endured, though troubled, though flawed,
A tale of modern life, both smart and wise,
Where every alert, though mundane, did unfold
A drama vast, in circuits, data, and skies.