ANGLES

 

Angles are made,
When two lines meet,
Their size depends on direction...
They have different values,
Read in degrees,
But all angles have a degree of perfection...

This angle's acute,

This one's obtuse,

And this one is 90 degrees,

While the acute one's so small,
The obtuse one will fall,
He bends back like trees in a breeze..

And then you will find,
Old Mr. Right,
It's 90 degrees- let's swim!!!
He stands up so straight,
Where his lines intersect ,
Like tennis court lines at the gym...

Well angles can't angle,
Which means they can't fish,
And an angle can't grant you a wish...
And angles aren't ANGELS,
Or witches or ghosts,
And they can't be served as a dish...

Yet, there are all sorts of angles,
For all sorts of needs,
Like there are all sorts of dogs,
Of all sorts of breeds...
We're surrounded by angles,
And I think it'd be found,
That without all these angles,
Life would feel really round...

The End...

 

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