Here is an attempt at a subtley more mathematical poem, concerning the infinate property of the proportion pi.
Have you ever so quandered
at the sky's utter blueness,
or a pleasure's newness,
or other things of the like
throughout your merry day?
The answer, in all, is very simple you see:
it is the propotion of pi, and its
infinitesimal-decimal property!
3.14 may accost for that squeaky old door,
quite loud in the winter, but more softly groaning
throughout the blissful summer season, moanin.
. ...999999 will be the absolute blame for
why a mime so accurately mimes his mime,
when pulling a rope that does not exist,
or entrapping himself within a box in a jist.
It is . ...567's fault to be taken,
to explain to us all why dogs may pass to heaven,
while kittens and thier breed must remain on earth --
counterparts, indeed, as much as seekers of vengeance
at the double-sided dirk!
And we can call . ...5116 to the stand
for such a reprimand
as to why fully-grown branches may drop small sticks,
when they are quite capable, really, of supporting the lot.
These questions and more may be found within pi,
a woundrous number if ever any,
whose digits all of whom to espy
will never pass nor occur, in the infinitismal pi.
2 comments:
Ah! It is amazing what the well-trained mind can do. I assure you that I have not the slightest notion of what that poem meant, and yet, to have written such a work of art, the author must have known his business.
In other words, I applaud you.
Your comments are thanked greatly. :]
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