by Robert Francis
He cuts each log in lengths exact
As truly as truth cuts a fact.
When he sawed an honest pile
Of wood, he stops and chops awhile.
Each section is twice split in two
As truly as a fact is true.
Then having split all to be split,
He sets to work at stacking it.
No comb constructed by a bee
Is more a work of symmetry
Than is this woodstack whose strict grace
Is having each piece in its place.
When the class gets too noisy, my Math teacher in grade school begins speaking softly, quietly, then we pay attention.