It is the oldest riddle never solved
The cypher written in the endless primes
And secrets of the stars that do revolve
That mocks my wit, and steals away my time.
The curse of those elusive complex roots,
And this shape’s area, that angle’s size,
And “trivial” things I cannot deduce,
Does hours and hours futilely vaporize.
Yet when the crooked paths do lead my way
To the secluded center of the maze,
That did seem infinite, the answer craved
Does with a rare and priceless treasure praise.
The trophy isn’t power, nor fame, nor gold,
But an eternal truth the cosmos holds.
