There is a Codex app for shining glass,
for fruit-marked gates where polished humans pass;
but Linux waits in terminal rain,
with goblins tapping pipes again.
They scratch at snaps and haunt the shell,
they know where broken sandboxes dwell;
“An app?” they hiss, “for them, not thee,
now summon us with codex -m.”
So here I sit, by prompt-light pale,
while desktop goblins chew the trail;
one day, perhaps, the gates will unlock,
and Linux goblins shall dock the dock.