Start with me:
As you see,
I am three.
I
Now add one more,
And up the score,
Or boost the store,
And I am four.
I
Take the risk and dive:
If you push and strive,
I will rise and thrive,
Till you see me, live,
At the stroke of five.
And here we reach the end of the line:
At least it needs more strength than is mine,
A heart that kings might choose to call fine,
So bright the gods might gape at its shine,
More choice than gem stones rubbed as with brine,
Or scraped up bright by hooves of big kine;
The sort of heart to serve for a sign,
And have its health drunk deep in red wine,
While all the while it beats time with nine . . .
I’m through.
Take two.
etc., etc., etc., to at least 13 trillion stanzas