Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.046 apart. A smaller distance means the lines are built more alike.

This number is read from the build of the lines. The bright edge is that number, carried outward until the pattern repeats.

Mrs. Willow

by John Drinkwater

−0.5665 + 0.3878i

Drawing the boundary…

The Charcoal Burner

by A. A. Milne

−0.5762 + 0.3424i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

Each poem scrolls on its own, so the two texts stay beside each other.

Mrs. Willow

by John Drinkwater

Mrs. Thomas Willow seems very glum.
Her life, perhaps, is very lonely and hum-drum,
Digging up potatoes, cleaning out the weeds,
Doing the little for a lone woman's needs.
Who was her husband? How long ago?
What does she wonder? What does she know?
Why does she listen over the wall,
Morning and noon-time and twilight and all,
As though unforgotten were some footfall?

"Good morning, Mrs. Willow." "Good morning, sir,"
Is all the conversation I can get from her.
And her path-stones are white as lilies of the wood,
And she washes this and that till she must be very good.
She sends no letters, and no one calls,
And she doesn't go whispering beyond her walls;
Nothing in her garden is secret, I think—
That's all sun-bright with foxglove and pink,
And she doesn't hover round old cupboards and shelves

As old people do who have buried themselves;
She has no late lamps, and she digs all day
And polishes and plants in a common way,
But glum she is, and she listens now and then
For a footfall, a footfall, a footfall again,
And whether it's hope, or whether it's dread,
Or a poor old fancy in her head,
I shall never be told; it will never be said.

The Charcoal Burner

by A. A. Milne

The charcoal-burner has tales to tell.
He lives in the Forest,
Alone in the Forest;
He sits in the Forest,
Alone in the Forest.
And the sun comes slanting between the trees,
And rabbits come up, and they give him good-morning,
And rabbits come up and say, "Beautiful morning"….
And the moon swings clear of the tall black trees,
And owls fly over and wish him good-night,
Quietly over to wish him good-night….

And he sits and thinks of the things they know,
He and the Forest, alone together — 
The springs that come and the summers that go,
Autumn dew on bracken and heather,
The drip of the Forest beneath the snow….
All the things they have seen,
All the things they have heard:
An April sky swept clean and the song of a bird….
Oh, the charcoal-burner has tales to tell!
And he lives in the Forest and knows us well.

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