An Urn of Cough Drops Math A Song

Math: A Song

 One plus one makes two, two more makes four.
 Four times twenty-one makes eighty-four.
 Eighty-four divided once in half makes forty-two,
 And forty-two is what equates to twenty-one times two.

	O I love math—
	It just adds up—
	And properly explained it makes a multitude of sense;
	So many things in life cannot be said to have a chance—
	Of being quite as probable—
	Of being quite as solvable—
	    Of being quite as musically conceivable as math.

 Ten men walked into a bakery.
 Each man bought two rolls, but one bought three. 
 Two of them decided on a whim to buy a bagel,
 So twenty-three fresh baked goods was their purchase as a total.

       O I love math!
       It’s total sense:                
 I’ve said it twice before and I shall say it thrice perchance,
 It made the pyramid and cube and rectangle and hence, 		
       There’s nothing quite as chartable,
	      There’s nothing as remarkable,
 For nothing in the stars could be observed ignoring math

 Four and twenty blackbirds in a pie;
 Four and twenty hours day and night:
 Make their sums a total and you’ve doubled either one,
 But take one from the other and we’re back where we’ve 
 begun:  

   O I love math—
	It never fails—
 And of the things I’ve come to love it’s math I love the most.
 
 I’m willing to disclose that one or two things may come close,
   
   To being quite as spherical—
     
      To being as empirical—
       
        But nothing holds a parallel equatable with math,
     
      No, nothing seems to rival any principle of math,
   
   No nothing odd or even has the reasoning of math,
 
 In every hint of beauty there’s an element of math.
 

The Poems of Dr. Spectacles | Commentary by R. L. Seasoning | Next Poem