A little Sunday morning poem for you…
She was born a whole circle but they wanted a hole. Twisted into a square but required to roll, she became a cute oval then none got her point. Triangle was next – she was forced to disjoint.
She became a trapezium with sides ne’er to meet then squeezed into a rhombus to make her complete; Next came a hex, a sept and an oct…hammering at edges despite them being locked. So a dodecahedron was next in the frame and, of course, this shape was wholly to blame for not fitting the space or filling the gap. The triskaidecagon just stole all her sap.
She moved on til she reached hexacontadigon. Sixty two edges! You’d think it was strong. But the facets were weaker, her chiliagon(e) ‘long with form and all love for this freak polygon.
For a while she was broken, became a flatline. It fit where it touched and it towed the line…It was easy to walk on, it slid down the cracks – it could morph into nothing, avoiding attacks. The line it got shorter, it almost withdrew…
And then oddly from nowhere a small wind blew…
into a chink and the shape became space. A dot became bubble, and bubble embraced
The fine air within and the new strengthened boundaries that were cast in the heat of life’s troublesome foundries.
It’s wholly the time to love this old ellipse for its shape can withstand the odd solar eclipse.
It’s the shape of the world, of the moon and the sun and the circle of life, once more, newly begun.