(after Robert Frost)
Something there is that doesn't love the math,
That sends the frozen needles under skin,
That numbs the skull and stultifies the brain
Before the joy of math discovery begins
Comes sheer torment of quadratic functions--
And who can blame those poor souls that can't add
Two simple fractions or multiply
Signed numbers?--
For there is no reason they can't pass
Remedial math courses with a D
And join the mindless workforce
Of their peers,
Who care not for square roots or logs,
Nor volumes of some pyramids or spheres--
No, they want none of it
In their beer-filled dream,
In their dull and repetitious slumber,
Where there is no x, and no why--
No solution to their life's equation
Which drags itself each day until they die
And take this time a permanent vacation.
Something there is that doesn't love the math,
That wants all numbers and all symbols down,
And lonely is a math instructor's path--
Misunderstood and treated like a clown
By those who care not for what she says.
Gone is the beauty of geometry and space,
The golden ratio and isosceles triangles--
There is just this massive wall above her head,
Where ignorance prevails and knowledge's dead--
Where there are no more questions,
No more numbers,
There is just this nothingness,
Where there's nothing to be said,
Where all the search and all the discourse ends.
May 30, 2009