Like one cast away on a desert island,
the rolling tide keeps his head.
Like one working on the dark prairie plains,
the chirping insects keep him company.
Listen to the hum of the machine, for that is the coder’s solitude,
that keeps his company ahead.
The elite understands his value;
does not lord it over his subordinates,
does not embellish it to his superiors.
His opportunity flies like a gentle bee’s.
Alights on the first flower it sees,
And leaves just as suddenly, without a trace
But benefits the flower in endless ways.
The elite has no home but Code,
And because of this, is never homeless.