What would life be
Without that twenty-three?
No seasons cycling,
Birthing, rearing, draining and renewing.

No heralding cries of labour
Harsh lives lived and vacated
To summon the next new cry
Of life unasked but bestowed.

That such a celestial charade exists,
Governed by an arbitrary number,
Amuses and disturbs me
As we would be naught without that twenty-three.