When rightly divine love and wit,
Conspire upon fate's turning rings,
To place a call beside the rain,
To hang the clouds and pull the troops,
One after each to face bleak storms,
But whisper of His love and deeds,
So galvanise the soul to prayer,
Which rightly bubbles forth in praise.

A soft glow lights the room,
Periodic jolts fire across the splayed open circuitry,
Pristine white folds into the crevices of the shaded cabinets before retreating like a receding tide,
It flickers ceaselessly and is all at once still,

"I think its fried"
"Yeah I think so too"
"Operations said something about a reactor meltdown and overclocking a thingy..."
"Bah! We'll just reboot him tomorrow, usually works a charm"