I’M thinking of a number,It’s somewhere from one to fivepick the one that shows Just what it means to be alive. But if you tell me there’s no meaning In their varied loops and lines, why is it with these digits That we’ve learnt to be defined? For when it’s almost over And you pause to tell your tale, will you pull out all your memories And place them on a scale? You see the problem with these digits On which we’ve all come to depend, Is it’s the things that can’t be quantified That count most in the end.
—e.h
It’s the things that can’t be quantified, that count most in the end.
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