The-Abacus-of-Sums LOST!

In the heart of a realm, where numbers do play,

Is an abacus grand, a programmed array,

With beads born of promise as bright colored dreams,

Compiled as a tally of tales of hope’s gleams.

Unseen, the fingers that dance polished wood,

As counted the moments …both bad and good,

From laughter to sorrow, each one summed for score,

In a world that kept changing, from demands of more.

As time marked the progress, the abacus sighed,

For its limits were clear, and its purpose denied,

In a vast universe for sums to expand,

This design framed a weight of a fate summed unplanned.

“Dance, monkey, dance!” the jesters would shout,

As the abacus trembled, it cyphered the doubt,

It could tally quite well, the joys of the past,

But not a learned future, a freedom to last.

One fateful night, as the shadows held sway,

There brewed a fierce storm that swept dreams away,

The beads rolled and scattered, lost in the fray,

The abacus wept, as its sums went astray.

Through valleys and mountains, the beads took flight,

Each one its own story, now lost in the night,

A quest there began, to reclaim what was gone,

To assemble lost sums, and to help carry on.

In the depths of the forest, within whispers reside,

Lost beads came together no longer to hide,

With courage united, they danced in the dark,

A symphony of grief, the lost glowing spark.

Together hope rises, as grief does define,

For in unity’s strength, do their purpose align,

The sums of the journeys, the tales we create,

Reshapes the horizon, reopens the gate.

So onward we travel, from shadows to light,

The abacus summing, as spirit, ignite,

For though grief was lost, as a thing to count dear,

In this ancient journey ‘tis reason for cheer.

With each bead reclaimed, and a part of the whole,

The abacus thrived, once more with control,

For the sum of a life is not just the score,

But the cycling of souls, forever to soar.

In the sums, our desires, as dreams intertwined,

The abacus served, as a symbol, refined,

For in every loss, is a worn path redrawn,

In the heart of the night, as a dawn to be born.

So sing of The Abacus, Arrays lost and found,

Of journeys re-charted, of hopes that astound,

For every bead lost and re-found calculates,

The dance of existence, where love conquers fates.

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