Dear Eight, you'll always be my mate

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.)

The End

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