Squares are red.
Triangles are blue.
The bottom of my heart,
Is shaped like a parabola.
But, O what things cause other problems.
Countless points measure to an infinity.
Circles of love, Circles of saints.
All joining hands, Thou knowest not.
Crossing paths all in lines,
People forget their inner thoughts.
Ere the fog clouds their minds,
Their encephalon thinks of tessellations.