A Sonnet to Calculus

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Oh – dreary sums, morbid tangents,
and more and all that belong to
The subject of my hate. Percents,
dear lord, is my score - sixty two!
But mon dieu! It’s not in my heart!
My weak mind cannot conjure graphs,
Formulas, and such - only art
of songs and paintings of seraphs.
If your prayers are to Newton,
Then mine are sonnets to Shakespeare.
Sine, you ask me. I cry, “Pardon?!”
Just poems in my blood do appear.
A woman of passion is I,
And sense and reason I defy!





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