Though moods may sinusoidal be,
Crest-trough exchanging, (c�est la vie)
There is a constancy outlined
With roots, albeit undefined.
Love scales the axes, meant to be.
For stronghold stringhold Dame Fate has:
Her whim is law, and all she says
Plump Cupid executes at will
(Her will, that is) – man foots the bill
And que sera, and all that jazz.
So when this Master Puppeteer
Sets line�r paths for us, my dear,
Intending intersections once,
Don�t cater to these fat�list wants:
Let�s thwart with parametric sneer. | |
For if we equal line and line
Sans being one, we can�t align
As I am she, and he is you
And love, a game best played by two.
And thus for curvature we pine.
For curving lines may cross and criss
Plex-googol times in �powered� bliss
By graph�s progression intertwined.
Just so, let�s oscillate and wind,
Bask in each exponential kiss.
Fate we�ll initially accept;
T�assign set slopes she is quite apt.
Then in a coup-de-mathematique,
No longer rigidly oblique,
We�ll join graphs, loyally enwrapped. | |
To parametrics we�ll convert
(Which, simplified, means we�ll avert
Equating Linearet�)
– �Tis lucky math is my forte –
With modes in quadrants shall we flirt.
Fate�s lines take not into account
Each others� variables, but count
Themselves an independent set.
Let�s make them fluctuate just yet.
Mathematics� logic we�ll surmount.
Our intersections will abound
Integral mutually, sound,
As comfort�s practice makes us one,
Our lives cohesive �neath the sun.
Give us this day our daily round.
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