A plane is as sane as a blueberry stain.
Measured backdrop caress inter-parallelled lines
In a land where most variables got their names
From the Greeks whom are wise at playing such games.
Three planes form a corner and from it inclines
A hypotenuse dotted of structure urbane.
A line is one kind of a thing on the mind
Of the gluttons of absolute order of things.
All space is a place where a Theta can live
And perhaps raise a family, then forever give
A reason for mind to perk up and take wings
And pursue all unknowns like a bat in the blind.
The pursuit of Theta’s no quest for the meek
Especially, of course, if that Theta is Fuchsia.
There’s just something about girl Theta; it’s true.
I’ll chase that fine fanny ‘till my brain turns bright blue.
Though just a bit radical, this all’s not to confushia
Well-Infected, I’m a recursively factored antique.