She could’ve been our grandmother
Warning us of poisonous mushrooms –
To stress her point she’d scratch
The taboo bold with crimson chalk.
It should never be used to divide,
Or we’ d be howled from lined yard
To pit where cruel paradoxes ruled.
Her warnings tempted us even more:
Young, growing in confidence,
We’d prove the impossible for fun –
Nothing she said could prevent us
From showing two was equal to one.