Square root three.

Last night I was watching Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay, and Kumar Patel (pronounced Quoo-mawr P'Tayl by Kal Penn, originally Kalpen Mody- or Modi) reads this out to his chikni, at her wedding, originally to Eric Winter (Drwwwwooooool) but not any more. It's the sort of love poem I DREAM of being written for me- plain, simple, stupid, honest but given my...uhmm...affinity/relationship to arithmetic, I'd say THIS would be perfect.
"I’m sure that I will always be
A lonely number like root three
The three is all that’s good and right,
Why must my three keep out of sight
Beneath the vicious square root sign,
I wish instead I were a nine
For nine could thwart this evil trick,
with just some quick arithmetic
I know I’ll never see the sun, as 1.7321
Such is my reality, a sad irrationality
When hark! What is this I see,
Another square root of a three
As quietly co-waltzing by,
Together now we multiply
To form a number we prefer,
Rejoicing as an integer
We break free from our mortal bonds
With the wave of magic wands
Our square root signs become unglued
Your love for me has been renewed"

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