A website for people who know what's really important


by Rita Webb
© 2003
Cardioid curvature, big heart-shaped graph:
Showy, pretentious, greater by half.
Degenerate into a hypocycloid,
Rolling with flourish, hiding the void.

The union seemed good, the angles were right,
Square to the compass within line of sight.
On a spiritual plane, 'twas a match made in hell;
Lines deviating, and ruin foretell.

Sine, cosine, tangent, sixty degrees,
No longer right for the world to see.
Linear motion, acute angle's aim,
Arrows fly swiftly; but who is to blame?

The angle of incidence that fateful night,
Straight line of fire, with tangent but slight.
Bullets so aimed stayed true to the course,
Approaching infinity without remorse.

Angles © 2003, by Rita Webb. All rights reserved.
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