When first I held her hand, she was but one;

And from my oneness separate hers remained.

Lapse not one year, our union had begun,

Thus one and one made… one – how unexplained.

Envisage further (warn I all who do:

Thou must be lithe in mental acrobatics!)

That she’s no longer half; she now is two.

How pliable must be these mathematics.

Combine her one (the last one must be carried),

To my existing one (or half?) – that’s three.

Yet find we when our ones are truly married,

The sum of theirs and mine is one, you see.

I ask thee earnestly, should love be bore,

What good, in truth, are mathematics for?

2008