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.