If I were to talk to Circle,
What stories would she have to share,
What events would she chronicle,
In the few moments she could spare?

Would she start by reminiscing,
About the day she shaped the world,
How the earth has people living,
Because in a circle, it twirled,

Would she explain how she became,
The prized wheel that began to roll
How travel was never the same,
How people chose her over stroll,

Would she talk of mathematicians,
And their struggles to find her pi,
For though many asked permissions,
She revealed them a simple sigh,

Would she tell a romantic tale,
About how she kissed a first love,
When she became twinkling eyes, pale,
But warm like the full moon above,

Would she mention her endless joy,
At being the children’s favorite,
Bouncing around as a ball toy,
Just so she could lift their spirits,

Would she lament how she fell down,
As gracious tear drops when he died,
How she blurred him and her silk gown,
Until his last breath, by his side?

I think she would plainly state how,
She never took anyone’s side,
That her rounded self could allow,
Her to keep her secrets inside.