A little something I just thought of writing on the spur while gazing hard at the hair of the girl sitting in front of me in a really really boring class.
O ye with silken hair,
Looking at you I despair.
For your locks, soft and meek
Seem like a mollified fractal, so to speak.
Just as in Mandelbrot’s set,
Your hair has a main bulb, where the bun has met
At a point, so near, so far and so light
Inaccessible but within sight.
From here, O maiden fair,
Emerge taut strands of hair
Like geodesics from infinity to and fro,
How perfect they go!
Your tresses, maiden fair, I recall
Seem like a tangent vector field
on the wedge sum of two spheres, big and small.
Brouwer was surely high,
when he proved the following lie:
“One cannot comb a hairy ball!”
O maiden fair, show Brouwer he is wrong,
His “proof” has stood for long,
Far too long!
As I write these lines, my conscience does prick,
People might whack me with a stick:
Brouwer’s theorem holds for a ball,
Not for the wedge sum of two spheres, big and small!
Alas, maiden fair, I was wrong.
But I’m not sad, for I have this song.
And now, I thank you, maiden fair,
For letting me write about your hair.