French is the language of love
and it is love I wish to speak of
but I cannot speak French
nor with flowery rhetorics
I’m not good with words, I can hardly even rhyme
I only deal with numbers which I deal with all the time
I’m only good with lines
when it comes with points and graphs and angles
which can surely intertwine
someone's mind in thousand tangles
Math is the language of the universe
but it is not the universe I wish to speak of
but numbers is my field
numbers are my sweat and toil
Math is what I know and it is what I’ll use
I’m sorry if it might seem that I am obtuse
because I’m not like you I'm sure
you’re much acute (pun intended)
but if talking of temperature
you’re more than 90 degrees where acute has ended
truth aside, it's said that anywhere on a plane
in Mathematics a point can meet a point
not enough to drive one insane
just draw a line where they'll be joint
but the point is we’re no points
we are simply just people
we cannot intersect
it was never that simple
Math is the language of the universe
and French of romance
it’s not a language I can converse
but he can, your boyfriend Lance
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem