Eight, dear eight
Don't let anyone say you're 'great'
Because you're fantastic
You're more than that you're -- 'it'
You are without ending
Without sides, without pointing
With you alone one can easily make
All the numbers a digital clock can take
Eight doors in my house
Eight clicks of a mouse
To purchase eight ice cream scoops
And a box of froot loops.
You are zero's combined
You are easily rhymed
Your chocolate is nice
I write your name in the ice
Cut you in half and slide you around
Attach any which way you will still be found
An 8 forever, an eternity sign
Oh, eight, dear eight, always be mine.
(Just had to add this note: Eighty-eight is acutally my favourite number and I have been arguing it's merrits for many years now. I somehow doubt this poem will every reach my truely favourite number, so I thought I'd make do with it's little brother, 8. And four is half of eight, so it has my respect too.)