8-9 10-11 12-12-12-12

Eight ways to spin an octagon in a circle,

Swirling and fading into approximate roundness,

Nine points to tame triangles into threes,

Ten trees to command, their shapes, their shells,

A shell knot, a leaven of eleven flours

Rising in a baker’s dozen of roles.

Eight great crates of lumbering love,

Waddling walk, a lee of lean crows,

Before, benign, between believers of breifs

Of the ten teens with twin-tined tongs.

In leaving, lie even between eleven elves

Entwined in their twelves of tin teeth.

Teeth broken by something they eight,

Ground fine by lies they were denying

Intensely and tersely torn to tatters,

To left and to right until one won the matters

And dozed behind doses of wonderful throws

From numbers of numinous nominees on their knees.

Keen to ken a token of toes, 

Totaling two tons of toll, coal, and foal.

A doe, a dear, an aunt of eight antlers.

Nineteen elfin dwellings in a twelfth night.