I ask chatGPT, “Can you write a poem about pi and probability?”
Of course, I can! Here's a poem about pi and probability:
In circles round, we find Pi's sound,
An irrational number, never to be found.
With digits vast and never-ending,
Infinite, yet always pretending.
For Pi is more than just math,
A symbol of the world's path,
Where probabilities run amok,
And uncertainty's the rule of luck.
Like rolling dice, the odds we take,
A game of chance, a risk we make.
The probability's a fickle friend,
A measure of how much we bend.
For in the midst of all this mess,
We see Pi's pattern nonetheless.
A ratio constant, never-changing,
A comfort in a world so ranging.
So let us embrace the unknown,
And let probability be our throne.
For in the chaos and the strife,
Pi's constancy is the thread of life.