Geometry, geometry,
Every shape and size,
What do you do
With your segments,
When you have the prize?
What a difficult subject to talk about,
With shapes and equations,
The lines and segments going endlessly,
Look like lacerations.
What do you see in a triangle,
Or a square perhaps?
What do you see in a hexagon,
Or in polygon mishaps?
What do you see in a cylinder,
Or even a rectangular prism?
What would you say
If Platonic Solids
Descended from the Chisolms?
Geometry, geometry,
What does it really mean to me?
If I ace it,
I can embrace it,
If I fail it,
I can set sail to sea.
I never had a hard time with you,
You crazy stupid subject,
But my brother had his mishaps,
For he never sought it true.
You are the logic
That we are taught
In deductive reasoning,
You are the equations
And proofs of old
That goes on like seasoning.
Is there no end to you?
Is there any strife?
Do you have any meaning?
Do you have any life?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem