by David Feinberg

I fear that I will always be
A lonely number like root three

The three is all that’s good and right,
Why must my three keep out of sight
Beneath the vicious square root sign?
I wish instead I were a nine

For nine could thwart this evil trick,
with just some quick arithmetic
I know I’ll never see the sun,
as 1.7321
Such is my reality,
A sad irrationality

 
When, hark, just what is this I see?
Another square root of a three
Has quietly co-waltzing by,
Together now we multiply
To form a number we prefer,
Rejoicing as an integer

We break free from our mortal bonds
And with a wave of magic wands
Our square root signs become unglued
And love for me has been renewed