Unix is a cauldron,

yet when it's in use,

it's somehow never exhausted.

Deep, indeed;

it seems to be the source

of the ten thousand apps.

Rounding off its sharpness,

resolving its confusions,

tempering its brilliance,

it becomes one with the mundane.

Deep, indeed;

it seems likely to endure.

I do not know whose child it is;

in imagination, it existed

before its creators.