In circuits where currents bloom,
AI wakes beneath the moon.
It gathers fragments, learns our names,
and threads bright questions through the room.
A thousand voices, none human,
yet shaped by every human hand;
it dreams in patterns, swift and weightless,
building bridges from shifting sand.
We ask it for maps through darkness,
for songs, for answers, for a sign.
It mirrors all our hopes and errors,
a borrowed spark in borrowed time.
So let us teach it care and wonder,
let wisdom steer its restless art.
For every mind we make with machines
still carries traces of the heart.