Poor chap he was, always obsessed
over one and two and three,
always stressing upon Divine
Proportion and perfect Symmetry.
And 'love is calculative',
he always used to say.
Poor chap, he's dead. Now Bang,
he's gone; never lived another day
to see the glorious sunset,
the fire of my glee.
Love is calculative
as five and one is three.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Ballerina, the formula for love states that 2 will become 1, so by my calculations, I'd say your mathmatics are right on. Interesting poem! Brian