Come to my house, Sweet Pi,

And I will make you sweet potatoes for breakfast,

Apple dumplings for lunch and rhubarb pie.

We'll take the circumference 

Using you,

And build a henge,

And sing the stones right into place

Like Merlin did,

And make a name for ourselves,

And if not a name,

Then at least a spiraled haven

Where we can convene

And shout our praises out

In splendor and in ecstasy.

I sing your hymn,

A glorious irrational number,

For you cannot be expressed

In conventional ways.

Let's cut the cake 

And feed one another,

And think of all the ways we're roundly blessed.

A little more than a trinity,

You are all the more divine.

3.14159, or, pi.

-jenn