Pi by Wislawa Szymborska (poem)?

To start with, do you know what pi is? It's the number (approximately 3.14159) that represents the ratio between the cirference (the distance around) and the diameter (the distance across) of a circle. So the number is a solid reality in our everyday lives. But it's also a great mathematical mystery. It's an "irrational number" and a "transcendental number." (You can look up those mathematical terms.) It's an infinite, non-repeating number. You can put the world's most powerful computer to work on the task of calculating the next few million or billion or trillion digits of pi; the number will never end. The poem is about the bizarre reality that something so basic and ordinary (every time we do anything that involves a circle, we're involved with pi) can also be so profound, so ultimately undefinable, so incomprehensible, so forever out of our grasp. No matter how much we gain the ability to understand the universe, there will always be some simple, basic truth that we can't quite catch hold of.