Pi: A Poem

I am pi,
16th among the greek letters i stand;
If you are too certain of my start and end,
Wager and bet; in trouble you will land.

As a number I start,
A simple ratio of geometry conceived to be;
When the circumference and diameter of a circle divided,
Calculate and you will end up with me.

3.14159,
Is all of me, I think you did assume;
Just take a try to pen me down,
Whole stack of earth’s paper I would consume.

Not rational, a complete decimal,
A true irrational number I am;
Of non repeating decimals am I made,
As different as the counting fingers of a palm.

A fixed origin I possess,
The ending is what’s unknown, infinite;
And still at moment now I move along,
Conjuring digits to my tail, indefinite.

And as permutation creates,
All possibilities my decimals can make;
Among their non repeated non ending stance,
Any combo, any form I can take.

The answer to life,
Or a fragment of it, in my numbers do I hide;
And wait for none as I journey along –
to my end, as do time and tide.

And so much for a simple ratio to be,
A value to use of geometry am I;
Forever yours, forever long,
I am a mystery: I am pi.