Post 36. A Moralising Tale.

Of The Arabic Zero or Nought.

David-like

who of BigPond's bloggers' the Bard is,

to-day, again,
poetry shall I try to write
knowing I shall fail
to soar high and light
of poetry the clouds to hike, like he-:
Whenever “ butterfly “ the word I hear
invariably and with longing
of Cindy dear vainly I think
and Cindy as a chained link
which around my neck is
sorrowfully brings back to me
of Luthien the norwegian nymph
immemorable the memory
which as ice and frozen mist
the opposite but is
of Ludwige her nibelungian sister
of Wagner and Goethe
the amazonian dream
whose body is
a series of circle osculations
reaching
to infinitesimally small
but never quite reaching
tangentially asymptotic
integrations and derivations
exhausting at once all Euclidean
tri-dimensional trigonometric
expectations
finally satiated and spent
falling and ending into
a fat and empty
cathartic-like
Arabic zero or nought.
Reader of mine,
the morale of this Tale is-:
Honny Soit Quy Mal Ye Pense!