A number echoes through the window,
Then suddenly it lapses to degree,
But zero the number is not so,
As it dances, suddenly it leaps;
Then we rise from null to full,
There our zero becomes an eight,
Once it stirs we find ourselves,
Taps gently onto the edges known,
Casts it a daring picture in sway,
Feels a light that beams away,
Feigns a digit whom it courts,
Becomes one with the number more,
Sighs again and goes to bed again,
A rabbit tucks in and explains:
The zero was never real, nor I;
A dream just as it was, but I too,
I too shall sleep more to this day.

K-Poetry, Poetry, Works
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