I think that I shall never see ...
A book as lovely as geometry.

A book between her covers prest
Assumptions, theorems, and the rest.

A book who in her binding holds
A nest of old papers between her folds.

Upon whose pages pens have written
Whose back binding a dog has bitten.

A book who into my locker goes.
Who intimately lives with my gym clothes.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But Euclid made geometry.