(Compacted for space. Original. Use tr '/' '\n' | sed -e 's/^ //' -e 's/ $//' to reëxpand, with a paragraph break being "\n\n". Sorry for the repeated initial edits and such; I had to try to work out the HN formatting rules.)
When humans try to learn symbolic math / How many of them struggle with the test! / The teacher thought of like a psychopath / Dishonoring the realm of human zest
“We must have our emotions!” students cry / “Or else we'll run around like apes, confused / Our brains are built for stories, not to scry / A world of numbers, strangled and abused.”
The teacher sighs, “They always drag their feet / Unless they're cornered, up against the wall. / To risk my job with answers incomplete! / They'll never use it later, after all.”
Then, big surprise! The math is found at fault / Tear-stained by cringing memories of school / “Dispense with all the symbols, and Exalt / Thine Intuition”—that shall be the rule.
Professors' lamentations curse the air / Hung out to dry for calling any bluff / “To shun defective math must be unfair / For surely no one understands the stuff.”
So woe to ye from near the world of forms / Who strain to show the populace your realms / They're immunized against your grand transforms / And explanation only overwhelms.
(Now, please don't take this poem at its word / Or treat it as authoritative fact / Exaggerated story and absurd / Polemic leave specifics inexact
The author's nearly made of symbols, note— / Despite the slow decay of some to blanks / So though he doesn't mean to seem to gloat / He'd rather keep his “freakish” symbols, thanks.)
When humans try to learn symbolic math / How many of them struggle with the test! / The teacher thought of like a psychopath / Dishonoring the realm of human zest
“We must have our emotions!” students cry / “Or else we'll run around like apes, confused / Our brains are built for stories, not to scry / A world of numbers, strangled and abused.”
The teacher sighs, “They always drag their feet / Unless they're cornered, up against the wall. / To risk my job with answers incomplete! / They'll never use it later, after all.”
Then, big surprise! The math is found at fault / Tear-stained by cringing memories of school / “Dispense with all the symbols, and Exalt / Thine Intuition”—that shall be the rule.
Professors' lamentations curse the air / Hung out to dry for calling any bluff / “To shun defective math must be unfair / For surely no one understands the stuff.”
So woe to ye from near the world of forms / Who strain to show the populace your realms / They're immunized against your grand transforms / And explanation only overwhelms.
(Now, please don't take this poem at its word / Or treat it as authoritative fact / Exaggerated story and absurd / Polemic leave specifics inexact
The author's nearly made of symbols, note— / Despite the slow decay of some to blanks / So though he doesn't mean to seem to gloat / He'd rather keep his “freakish” symbols, thanks.)