Mean red and low blue,
paint your picture palette purple.
We’ve been talking, as you know,
in very small, fast circles.
And you worry for the safety of the wider sphere.
Well, here it is:
It’s just a fractal.
All these things, they’re all just parts of a fractal.
They’re all just little circles
and every one is the same,
though each one is different to us
and we know each by name.
But stand back dear, you’ll see the shape.
Stand back and see, what all these circles make:
It’s a circle.
But not just any circle,
it is the wider sphere.
And it’s made up of circles,
each one is the same
but each we know by name.
See this one here is happiness
and over here is one for all our crashes.
This, of course, is Breakfast in Bed,
and these two are for Falls and Catches.
There’s a tournament of challenges inside this one,
tea by gallon in another.
This one is for the sad moments,
so I’ve pushed it to the centre, to be embraced by the others.
And here are all the songs the world has ever heard
and some that it hasn’t as of yet.
And all in one little circle, don’t forget!
The one that moves, the one that pings to and fro,
is laughter and mischief.
The one it’s next to now
is for unexpected mail and loving little gifts.
When I fold this page,
I’ll put it right here;
this is for poetry
and equally part of the wider sphere.
See how every individual part
reflects the whole in shape?
Self-similar in every regard,
they all contain the same.
The same depth of love, the same length of longing,
the same volume of passion and density of kindness,
the same measure in each, of intellect and of beauty.
Each and every one, the same.
Each a marvel for the part it plays.
The small, fast circles
of one small circle, are no more and no less.
No one is better,
no one is best.
Stand back or stand near,
you’ll find you’re looking at the wider sphere.
Reflected in fragments close enough to examine,
or painted on the wall, where you can see it all.
So stand with me, dear, and see the wider sphere.
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