Sunday, December 25, 2011
A Stick Figure's Night Before Christmas
Not a circle was rolling, not even a line.
Euclid’s Elements were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Geometry soon would be there
Little Stick Figures were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of angles danced in their heads.
And mamma in her remainder, and I in my sum
Had just settled our selves from a long day of fun.
When out on the lawn there arose a superior system,
I sprang from my bed wanting to be near them.
Away my concentration, goodbye my understanding
Was it really St. Geometry who was in our yard a landing?
A feebler impress through the ear is made,
Than what is by the faithful eye conveyed.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But Old St. Geometry, the one who drew us so clear.
With perplexing repetitions, so lively and quick
I knew in an instant, he was the father of the Stick.
More endless than thinking his excellence remains
Introducing all Stick Figures, whom we know by name.
Straight lines, parallelograms, triangles, and rhombus!
Proportions accordingly inferred to us.
Inversions and antecedents, we know you, too.
Magnitudes together with ratios so true.
“Now Square! Now, Rectangle! Now, Point and Line!
On, Radius! On, Area! On, Extremities of Design!
Let us all be proportional, and similarly situated.
Contained by extremes, yet equally weighted!
From unicity to infinity,
He gave us axes of symmetry.
Each segment, the greater,
Each angle, its maker.
He knew the angle at the center of a circle,
Was double the angle at the circumference of our world,
Who when having the same part of the circumference for its base,
Was the proportion we needed to exist in this place.
His eyes how they circled! His lines how merry!
His feet angled out, his proportions how varied.
His center within was the center of all,
The beauty of equality that helped us stand tall.
The point, how he drew it,
The square, he gave a twist.
The inventor of the straight line,
We could not resist.
His lines drew nearer, his gaze you could not divide.
He constructed shapes merely by eye.
His designs how stately, when seen together,
Create every angle, irrespective their measure.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his line.
And filled empty space with success refined.
Alternate angles, parallel and straight alike,
Concepts even Algebra would like.
He sprang to his book, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all vanished like a ballistic missile.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he divided from our sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, my greatest design!”
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Posted by Soph Laugh at 4:44 AM