The Ballad of the Shape of Things

Rectangular is the hotel door my true love tried to sneak through
Rectangular is the transom hole by which I had to peek through,
Rectangular is the hotel room I entered angrily, and
Rectangular is the wooden box
Where lies my love neath the golden phlox
They say he died of the chicken pox
In part I must agree
One chick too many had he
Triangular is the piece of pie I eat to ease my sorrow
Triangular is the hatchet blade I plan to hide tomorrow
Triangular the relationship which now has ceased to be
And triangular is the garment thin
That fastens on with a safety pin
To a prize I had no wish to win
It's a lasting memory
That my true love gave to me