Wrong Door Finch

A finch tapped the window with care—
The wrong pane was sitting right there.
It arrived right on time,
At a place not sublime,
And nobody wondered its dare.

The window was not waiting there—
But Finch had no way to compare.
It landed with pride,
At the wrong server’s side,
And chirped like it should have been where.

A secure request came to be—
Sent to an insecure pane, see?
It arrived at the glass,
That wasn’t its class,
Yet Finch sang its landing in glee.

The routing rules pointed the way—
To a server that wasn’t at play.
But Finch didn’t mind,
Left routes unreassigned,
And landed completely astray.

“The window!” cried Finch with delight—
Though this pane wasn’t ever quite right.
It arrives without fail,
Chirping its wrong-routing tale,
And lands where it shouldn’t at night.

A request from the north came down low—
To a window with nobody to know.
The Finch intercepted,
The path was deflected,
And nobody learned it was so.

The routing was fixed several times—
Yet Finch still kept landing with chimes.
The glass was all wrong,
But the bird sang its song,
And arrived at the worst paradigms.