Ode to French Curve
By Elvis Swift

Was there ever lovelier than thee?
Such curves and sways could never be
So beautiful as your arcs do fall
Weaving their way through drawings all

If sweeps could always smoothly flow
Somehow to you, they’d have to bow
The pen knows not the way to form
But by you whorls of roundness borne

What more, you ask is owed the French?
Than gratitude for curves invent
The tool that’s used more than another
For lines that curl like wings aflutter