Seven and Seven?

The fiftieth batch arrives soon . . .

Seven and Seven, Seven and Seven

Seven and seven are lovely creatures.

They're two perfect numbers, so they say.

But who's this "they" of perfect fact features?

This batch of verse is forty-ninth, today.

One batch more, the morrow, creeps in this place

as fifty, scarce past forty-nine, you see,

from seven times seven is then laid waste.

We further clamber up the poet tree.

A perfect place to go out on a limb!